Deathstalker War

CHAPTER FOUR

EVERYONE GOES TO GOLGOTHA

And so the war finally began, almost by accident.

The live broadcast of Virimonde's destruction and the slaughter of its population by Imperial forces backfired badly. A roar of rage and condemnation spread across the whole Empire, planet after planet seeing its own possible future in the horrific images unfolding before them on their viewscreens. Insurrections arose spontaneously on world after world, sparks fanning into flames as the incoming images grew steadily worse. The lower classes took to the streets, protests quickly becoming riots, turning on anything that could be seen as representing Imperial authority. The moneyed classes were right out there with them, as often as not, driven from their complacency by shock and outrage, ready to fight and die rather than see their world mechanized like Virimonde.

The underground seized the opportunity before it, and sent its people out on every world they had access to, guiding and assisting the spontaneous uprisings. They supplied weapons, pointed crowds in the right directions, and put long-crafted plans into operation. Deep-planted sleeper agents committed sabotage, disrupted communications, and generally brought people together to do the most damage possible. The army responded by emptying its barracks and sending troops straight out onto the streets, with orders to shoot everything that moved. It might have worked, if so many people hadn't been shocked and sickened by what they'd seen happening on Virimonde. They were too angry now to be properly scared. Men and women spilled out onto the streets, armed with whatever weapons they could find or improvise, and fell upon the Imperial troops in such numbers that not even massed energy weapons could stop them. All across the Empire, on world after world, there was blood and slaughter in the towns and cities, and official buildings blazed like warning beacons of the battle to come.

In the streets they cursed the name of the Widowmaker Dram, and tore down the portraits and statues of the Iron Bitch, and howled for revenge for the dead of Virimonde.

Increasingly isolated as well as outraged, the Lords added their troops to the rebellion, sending their armed forces out to fight the Imperial troops alongside the rebels. The Families were nothing if not survivors, and Lionstone had become a greater threat to them than any momentary uprisings. They'd always known she was crazy, but now she had become dangerously insane. If Lionstone had consulted them first, about David or Virimonde or even the mechanization, things might have been different. They'd have found some way to turn it to their advantage. But the first they knew of any of it was when their viewscreens showed them the rape of a Lord's planet. It didn't take too much imagination for any of them to see themselves as Lionstone's next object of opportunity, outlawed so their planet could be next in line for mechanization under Lionstone's direct rule. Faced with a clear threat to their lives, their position, and their wealth, it was inevitable that the Lords would tacitly encourage the rebellion. The lower orders could always be put back in their place later. And if many Lords saw in the chaos an opportunity to place themselves on the Iron Throne, they kept it to themselves, for the moment.

Suddenly, it seemed like everything was up for grabs. Anything seemed possible. Every group and faction and cause saw a chance to overthrow the way things were, and went out into the streets to fight for it. People who wouldn't normally have spoken to each other without spitting became temporary allies, fighting side by side, held together by the shared aim of throwing Lionstone off the Iron Throne before she could destroy them all in her madness. In city after city, on world after world, the people went head-to-head with Imperial troops, and the cry of rebellion was on everyone's lips.

The army and the Fleet could have coped with a few planetwide rebellions, but not everything at once.

Stretched thinly across the Empire, attacked on every front and even from within by those sympathetic to the rebels and their cause, the Imperial forces were crippled by confusion. Starcruisers appeared over the worst trouble spots, but they'd never been intended to deal with planetside rebellions. Their only real threat was a scorching, and for the moment, at least, they were spread too thinly for that. Rebels in their crews sabotaged their communications, isolating them further. The underground had planned for this day, and the Empire, in its arrogance, had not.

On the planet Golgotha, homeworld of Empire, center of authority, outraged people filled the streets, rioting and looting and burning down the command centers. Because they'd had so much more to lose, they'd hesitated at first from open rebellion, but the underground had swiftly spread rumors that Lionstone was planning harsh new taxes, even more repressive laws, and was even planning to shut down their precious Arenas. After what they'd seen on Virimonde, the people were ready to believe anything of her, and these new threats hit them where they lived. Isolated protests were put down with such fury and bloodshed that even the hardened populace of Golgotha was shocked, and they rose up everywhere at once. The underground did its best to guide them in the right directions, while hiding its smiles. It had always known people need motivating, and what they won't do for the right reason, sometimes they will for the wrong reason.

The authorities sent out every armed trooper they had, with orders to stop the riots at all costs and not to bother with taking prisoners. This just made matters worse, infuriating an already defiant population, and as fast as troopers put the rebellion down in one place, it just popped up in another, regrouping and re-forming faster than it could be dispersed. The underground disrupted all levels of communication, while using espers to organize their own forces. The Clans took one look at the growing chaos, called back all their troops, and retreated into their pastel Towers, safe behind organized levels of security. Encouraging the fighting on other worlds was one thing, but this was too close to home. So they kept their heads well down, avoided attracting attention to themselves, and let the rebels concentrate their hatred on Lionstone's authority. And when the mess was over, and the rebels were tired and aimless once more, the Families would emerge and take control again, as they always had. Or so they thought. They didn't know about the underground—its plans and its powers. They didn't know about the people who'd been through the Madness Maze. They didn't realize that the great rebellion had finally begun.

Parliament convened and agreed to stand aside and support whoever came out on top. Which surprised no one.

Above the worlds of Empire, starships clashed in the night. The underground had put out a call to the Hadenmen, and their great golden ships were abroad in the night again. Huge and fast and awesome, they were more than a match for the scattered Imperial starcruisers. As far as numbers went, the Hadenman ships were greatly in the minority, but they ran rings around the slower Empire ships, outgunning and outperforming them on every level. The Empire crews panicked, faced with the legendary old Enemies of Humanity, and put out general distress calls, demanding that all Imperial ships forget about the rebellions to face the greater threat of the Hadenmen. Starcruisers all across the Empire ignored Lionstone's increasingly frantic orders and raced to meet the golden ships, only to fall one by one. Blazing wreckage cartwheeled slowly down through the atmospheres of unsuspecting planets. And the Hadenmen sailed on through the long night.

The Church of Christ the Warrior saw the second coming of the augmented men as a spiritual as well as a martial threat, and threw everything they had against the Hadenmen, ignoring the rebellion. They fared no better than the Fleet, once again distracting ships and troops that might have prevailed against the rebellion. The underground confused things even farther by spreading carefully placed rumors that Lionstone was planning to seize the Church's tithes to replace her missing taxes, thus alienating the Church even more. Every little bit helped.

If Lionstone had had more than just a few E class starcruisers to call on, with their new stardrives and superior weapons systems, things might have been different. But after the rebels destroyed the Wolfe stardrive factory on Technos III, there were only five E class ships in service, and they couldn't be everywhere at once. There were even open mutinies on some Imperial ships, as junior officers with rebel sympathies and underground connections led takeover bids on the control decks, backed by disgruntled lower ranks who hadn't been paid for months, because of Treasury shortfalls after the Tax systems crashed. A surprising number of these mutinies succeeded, and the new rebel ships withdrew themselves from combat. They wouldn't fight their own kind, but they would take no further part against the rebellion.

Meanwhile, Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn were right there in the thick of it all, getting everything on film, transmitting live as often as they could. Dragged from one bloody firefight to another by their Imperial minders, they did their best to cover everything as objectively as possible. The army officers supposed to be in charge of censoring their output were mostly too busy with their own problems.

On a battlefield pockmarked with craters on the planet Loki, the Imperial armies were overrun by wild-eyed rebel forces, and Toby and Flynn took the first opportunity to make a run for it. They didn't get far among the body-filled craters before they were stopped by the advancing rebel forces, who luckily recognized Toby. A few even asked for autographs. Toby pleaded eloquently to be sent to Golgotha, where the real story was, and after a certain amount of discussion the rebels were happy to send them on their way. They understood the need for good propaganda, and it seemed only fair to all concerned that the two men who had covered so much of the story should be there for the final act when it happened. Toby smiled and nodded and agreed modestly in all the right places, and prayed no one would ask awkward questions about who was going to pay all the bills. No one did, so Toby and Flynn set off on the first of half a dozen uncomfortable journeys that would take them eventually to Golgotha, Lionstone's Court, and the Hell that she had made there.

For it was on Golgotha that the real fighting, the clashes that mattered, would take place. Who rules homeworld rules the Empire. Everyone knew that. And so Lionstone retreated into her Palace of gleaming steel and brass, set inside a massive steel bunker a mile and a half wide, sunk deep below the surface of the planet, and waited for her enemies to come to her.

They were burning the poets, hanging the troubadours, impaling the satirists. Blood and screams and horror. Just another day in Hell. The Court was a dark, dangerous place now, reflecting the mind of its ruler. The Empress Lionstone XIV, the worshiped and adored, sat on her Iron Throne as though she might leap down from it at any moment, to rend and savage some unfortunate enemy. She wore shimmering white battle armor, which together with her pale face and long blond hair made her look like some vengeful family ghost. Normally she wore her long mane of hair piled up on top of her head for Court appearances, but now it hung down in long uncared-for tresses, through which her icy blue eyes stared unwaveringly. And on her head the tall spiky crown, cut from a single huge diamond—the symbol of power and authority in the Empire.

At the base of her Throne, her maids-in-waiting crouched watchfully like the guard dogs they were. Naked and unashamed as animals, mindwiped and surgically altered to be loyal unto death, they watched the Court through cybernetic senses, ready for any threat to their beloved mistress. They would kill or die to protect her, and their ferocity was legendary. Their teeth were pointed and their fingers ended in implanted steel claws. Within their naked bodies they had other, nastier surprises, the best that money could buy. Once they had been as human as anyone else, with minds and lives of their own, but that was before Lionstone chose them, and took them away from their old lives to be a part of hers. They could be commoner or aristocrat; all were made equally vile under Lionstone's wishes. No one objected. No one dared. Besides, it was an honor to be a maid-in-waiting to the Empress.

Floating on the air before the Throne, dozens of viewscreens showed scenes from all across the Empire. The views changed rapidly, constantly updating themselves on the growing path of the rebellion. Announcers with sweating faces read the news almost apologetically. There were charts showing rebel advances and Imperial losses. Shaky cameras showed scenes of blood and chaos and the roar of battle. They all looked much the same. Increasingly confused commentators chattered endlessly about what it all meant. On some worlds the rebels had seized control of communications, and triumphant smoke-blackened faces called for the downtrodden to rise up and overthrow the Iron Bitch. Screens blanked in and out as the underground and their cyberat allies interfered with the comm channels, but there were always more signals coming in to replace them. The whole Empire was shouting at the top of its voice, desperate to be heard. The Empress watched it all, her steady gaze cold as death itself. For those who thought they knew her, her cold calm was more worrying than her earlier shouted orders and temper tantrums. It meant she was thinking. Planning. Deliberating on her revenges, and the awful forms they would take.

Standing quietly before the Iron Throne, at what they hoped was a safe distance, were two of the few people apart from guards and their victims still admitted to the Imperial Court. General Shaw Beckett and the Warrior Prime, the Lord High Dram. There were no courtiers present. No Lords and their Ladies, no representatives of the great Families, no Members of Parliament, no one from the one true Church, none of the usual celebrities and characters and hangers-on. Lionstone didn't trust them anymore. Any of them. And so Beckett and Dram stood together, ignoring each other as best they could. They were both men of war, but all they had in common was their loyalty.

Tall and imposing. Dram wore his usual jet-black robes over black battle armor, looking like some gore crow fresh from the battlefield. He wore both gun and sword in the presence of his Empress, one of the very few so allowed. Beckett, on the other hand, looked a mess, as always. His carefully tailored battle armor couldn't hide the fact that he was seriously overweight, his robes were decidedly scruffy, and he carried himself with immense calm but little authority. He was smoking an evil-smelling cigar and not caring where the smoke went.

Around them, the Hell that Lionstone had fashioned for her Court. The light was bloodred, and the air was thick with the stench of brimstone. Great vents had opened up in the floor of the Court, through which sudden bursts of flame erupted, adding to the sweltering heat. And from far below came the faint screams of the damned and the suffering. Great pillars of stone rose up farther than the eye could follow, covered with carved tormented faces, screaming in silent agony, contorted by unimaginable pain.

And all around, the dead and the dying. Unfortunates who'd caught Lionstone's attention at just the wrong time. The hanged hung limply from their ropes or chains, the impaled had mostly stopped twitching on their bloody stakes, and only smoke rose from the charred and blackened figures burned in iron cages. There were others, denied an easy death. A ballerina with broken legs, a poet with his eyes gouged out, and a captured rebel leader with long ropes of purple guts hanging out of his torn-open stomach. And many more. They crawled around on their hands and knees, biting back their screams to prevent further punishment, begging quietly for just a little water. Beckett hoped that most of them were just holograms, computer-generated images called up by Lionstone to add to the atmosphere, but he couldn't make himself believe it. Particularly when they tugged at his boots with broken hands and pleaded quietly for just a word on their behalf. He didn't look down. He couldn't help them. He wasn't even sure he could help himself. To distract himself, he studied the armed guards standing in silent ranks behind the Throne. Lionstone had dressed them as devils, with curling horns on their helmets and blazing wings erupting from the back of their armor. Lionstone believed in every detail being perfect.

Finally she looked away from the viewscreens and turned her attention to Beckett and Dram. They both did their best to stand a little straighter. When she spoke her voice, like her gaze, was icy cold.

"General Beckett, we have called you here to place you in sole charge of this planet's defenses. We put Golgotha into your hands. Guard it well and keep it safe."

Beckett stared at her blankly. "But… Your Majesty; I assumed I'd been brought here to take command of your fleet! I am the only one left with the experience and seniority to pull things back together. They'll listen to me! Who else is better qualified for this than I?"

"Don't presume to argue with us. General," said Lionstone, her voice dangerously calm. "You have your orders; carry them out."

Beckett bore down hard on his anger, to keep from saying something he might be made to regret later, turned on his heel, and strode out of the Court. He'd been loyal to the Iron Throne all his days, and couldn't change that now. No matter how much he was tempted. Lionstone watched him go, and then turned back to Dram.

"You will command my fleet, dear Dram. Beckett is too soft, for all his vaunted loyalty. He might hesitate to do the things that must be done. I admired your firmness, your thoroughness, on Virimonde, and I need someone at the helm that I can trust implicitly. So you're to be the man in charge, Dram. My man in charge. Don't fail me. Don't dare fail me. You'll give your orders from here, at my side. You'll be safe here, and I'll be able to consult with you, as necessary."

"Yes, Lionstone. But… will the Captains accept me as Commander in Chief? They know I don't have Beckett's experience."

"They'll serve the Warrior Prime. The man they think you are. That's all that matters. Take my fleet and crush my enemies, Dram. Break them and scatter them and show them no mercy. Just as you did on Virimonde. I am Empress, and I will be obeyed. And afterward… there will be a purging of all weak and disloyal elements such as no one has ever seen before."

She smiled an unpleasant smile, and Dram made himself nod in agreement. "As you will, Lionstone. Pardon me for asking, but… do you think you would do well to protect yourself further, even here? There's no telling what lengths the rebels or the elves might go to, for a chance to strike directly at you."

"Don't worry yourself about such things," Lionstone said easily. "I have sent for the best of the best to come here to be my personal bodyguards. No one will get past Investigator Razor and Kid Death."

Up on the surface, the fighting went on, growing more bloody and more bitter all the time. Armies ran through the streets and crowded the open squares, fighting the Imperial troops for this cause or that, but all united against the monster Lionstone, the madwoman on the Iron Throne. The barracks had been emptied of troops to the very last man, and the two main forces slammed together wherever they met, each convinced that right and destiny were on their side. One fought for order, the other for justice, and there was no room for quarter or surrender in either camp. Both sides had to win overwhelmingly, or see themselves devastated by the victor. They fought with swords and axes, force shields and energy guns, and the disturbing, unfamiliar projectile weapons supplied by the underground. Blood sprayed on the air, and men and women fell to lie screaming on the gore-soaked streets, dying from their wounds, or simple shock, or just from the endless trampling feet of the close-packed fighters. No one had time to care for the wounded, and the dead were everywhere. They were kicked out of the way, or piled on street corners, forgotten by friends and enemies alike as the battles continued.

Some of Lionstone's troops were using the new stasis projectors. Within their narrowly focused fields, time came to a stop, and all those caught in the field were held there helpless, trapped in a moment taken out of time, like insects confined in amber. Advances were brought to crashing halts, and whole areas became impassable. But this was new technology, and the number of projectors was strictly limited. They were also unstable and unreliable. Sometimes just activating the machine was enough to blow the whole apparatus apart and kill everyone in a thirty-yard radius. Understandably, the troops were reluctant to use them. Sometimes officers had to stand there with them and put guns to their heads. But where the machines did work, the effects were dramatic. Within the projected field, time could be slowed to a crawl or sped up beyond counting. Those trapped in stasis could become living statues, removed from the conflict, or, more often, they could age horribly fast. Skin shrank, bodies warped with age, hearts failed and brains rotted in splitting skulls. Even on low power, the machines produced clinging tanglefields that could fill a street, slowing advancing forces and making them helpless targets for more traditional weapons.

But this success didn't last. As soon as the threat became clear, the cyberats infiltrated the machines' computer-aiming systems, and shut them down. Battle espers took out the projectors' operators from a safe distance, destroying their minds or setting them on fire. Where the troops were protected by esp-blockers, the espers used mind-bombs. Nasty high-tech devices built around dead esper brain tissues. When detonated, every non-esper in the mindbomb's range went horribly insane. The troops would turn on each other and tear each other apart with their bare hands, screaming and crying and howling wordlessly, soaked in their fellows' blood. The rebel forces pressed forward, overran the stasis projectors and their dead or insane crews, and moved on.

There would be time to think about the terrible things they'd had to do later.

The Empress gave orders to turn the Grendels, the merciless killing-machine aliens found in the Vaults of the Sleepers, loose in the streets. Vicious monsters in blood-red spiked silicon armor, they moved too swiftly for the human eye to follow, killing all they came across. Weapons were useless against them. Too strong to be fought, too fast to be faced, they moved inexorably through the crowded streets, leaving only blood and slaughter in their wake. Unfortunately, the Empress's control over these creatures was very limited. Once released from the enforced pacification of their cybernetic yokes, they killed every living thing they encountered, no matter which side they happened to be on. Beyond any control or guidance, they rampaged through the streets, scarlet devils from an alien hell, and the dead piled up behind them. If Lionstone had had more of them, they might have turned the tide. But their numbers were limited, and so was the damage they could cause in a city overrun with battling armies.

The underground sent battle espers against the aliens, but many of the espers died just from making contact with the Grendels' minds. They were too alien, too different, too awful to be faced. And so the underground called on the elves, the hard-line Esper Liberation Front, who sent in the polters and the Firestarters. Soon roiling psistorms blazed through the streets, ripping the Grendels apart and incinerating the bloody fragments. The aliens fell one by one, fighting to the last against an enemy they could neither see nor reach, and as they were broken and consumed by raging fires, both sides cheered the espers as heroes. Never before had aliens been allowed to roam home-world's streets, killing humans, and many on both sides saw this as another sign of Lionstone's growing madness. Soldiers and civilians who had been forced to stand by helplessly as the Grendels butchered their comrades and loved ones now cursed the Empress and went to fight alongside the rebels.

The rebels didn't have it all their own way. The legendary Half A Man led his own army of troops through the Parade of the Endless, fighting from the front, putting down rebellion wherever he found it, by whatever means necessary. His successes and calm military demeanor inspired his soldiers, and almost through sheer force of personality he held the center of the city, and would not be moved, no matter what the odds against him. To the troops he was a hero as well as a legend, the protector of Humanity, and they stood their ground and fought to the death rather than fail him. So the rebels left them the center of the city, and went around them. For in the end he was only one man, and he couldn't be everywhere at once.

The cyberats hacked into Golgotha's main communications systems and shut down every military comm channel they could reach. The troops were instantly shut off from each other and isolated in their own small pockets of fighting. Strategy became impossible and reinforcements ran helplessly in circles. Imperial espers were no match for the organized underground telepaths, and the military and security organizations quickly fell apart. Orders never reached their destinations. Calls for help went unanswered. Chaos reigned. But the rioters wasted their energies on looting and trivial revenges, for all the underground could do to guide them. The rebels themselves remained outnumbered and outgunned, and the longer the fighting went on, the worse the odds against them grew. They had to strike quickly, while they still had the advantage of surprise, and take control of Golgotha, or the rebellion could still fall apart and fail, for all its successes. The military knew this, and played a waiting game, holding key areas and refusing to give way. And so blood spilled, and men and women died on both sides, the tides of battle went this way and that, and the leaders of the underground began to grow desperate. It was beginning to look as though all their hopes now depended on a small group of heroes and legends who hadn't even made an appearance yet, that the whole rebellion could stand or fall on the actions of Owen Deathstalker and his companions.

The Shandrakor Standing of Giles Deathstalker, the original home and sanctuary of the Deathstalker Clan, dropped out of hyperspace and fell into orbit over the planet Golgotha. A huge stone castle with its own stardrive and force shield, and many other hidden surprises, it hung silently over the homeworld of Empire like a specter from the past, from the great days of Empire, before the dream became a nightmare and good men fell as the bad came to power. The ancient stone gleamed whitely in the light of Golgotha's sun, pale as a ghost, the specter at the feast, the old retainer returned at last to kick the usurpers out. After 943 years, the Deathstalker Standing had finally come home.

Giles Deathstalker stood at parade rest in the great Hall of the Standing, his back to a blazing fire, studying the planet below as it turned slowly on the giant viewscreen at the end of the Hall. Clad in his usual battered armor, grubby furs, golden armlets, and mercenary's scalplock, he looked more like some barbarian warrior out of Humanity's distant past then the first Warrior Prime of the Empire, hero and legend to all the Empire for almost a millennium. His long sword hung in a scabbard down his back, the leather-wrapped hilt peering watchfully over his shoulder, as though only waiting to be called into action.

The original Deathstalker, namer and founder of his Clan, back from exile to a homeworld that knew him not.

His distant descendant, Owen Deathstalker, stood a little away, with his comrade in arms, Hazel d'Ark, at his side. There was a closeness between them that hadn't been so clear before, as though they had discovered something important about each other and themselves during the invasion of Mistworld. They stood tall and confident, and strength and power hung about them like an aura of greatness. They wore no armor, but while Owen bore only his sword and disrupter. Hazel was packing as many weapons as she could carry. Hazel believed in guns. They'd come a long way since they first met, in a field on Virimonde which no longer existed, and it was hard to see in Owen and Hazel the reclusive scholar and reluctant pirate they'd once been. They had come into their destiny, and it showed.

On the other side of the enormous fireplace stood Jack Random, the legendary professional rebel. The broken-down old man Owen had found hiding out in Mistport, such a short time ago, had disappeared now, replaced by a strong, muscular figure in the prime of his years. Jack Random had re-created himself, through his faith and his power and his courage, and the mysterious powers of the Madness Maze, to be a hero and a legend one more time. Just standing there, calm and relaxed, he looked ready to take on the whole damned Empire by himself. And if there were blood and savagery and slaughter of the foe along the way, that suited him just fine.

Close by his side, looking as though she belonged there and always had, Ruby Journey. She wore black leathers under white furs, and was as dauntingly attractive as the kind of flower whose pollen provides uneasy dreams. Just standing there, she looked dangerous as hell and damned pleased about it. Unlike the others who'd passed through the Madness Maze, Ruby Journey hadn't really changed much at all. It just… refined her. As a bounty hunter, she'd mostly brought her victims in dead rather than alive, because it meant less paperwork. She sought out fights and battles and the most dangerous bounties, just to prove she was as nasty as everyone said she was. As a rebel, she'd just increased the size of her enemy. It was still all down to mayhem and looting, as far as she was concerned. She saw great opportunities for financial improvement in the chaos on Golgotha, and didn't intend to let herself be distracted by unimportant things like politics. Random could deal with things like that. He understood them.

Alexander Storm, that old and tired man, had been a part of the rebellion most of his life. As a young man he'd fought at Jack's side in battles beyond counting. Once a brilliant swordsman and a laughing adventurer, a hero almost as famous as Random, he was now weighed down with age and bitterness, and concentrated his remaining energies in helping to determine the underground's policies and strategies. And if he was jealous that his old friend Jack had somehow grown young and vital again, and he had not, he kept it to himself. Mostly.

And finally, there were Young Jack Random and Psycho Jenny. They stood together some distance away from the others, because no one else would stand next to them. And even they did their best to ignore each other. Young Jack had arrived on the scene out of nowhere, claiming to be the real professional rebel, and it had to be said he looked the part. Tall and powerful in his silver battle armor chased with gold, he positively radiated strength and wisdom, and his charisma almost outshone the overhead lights. Every inch the hero, people followed him almost instinctively, even into the most impossible of situations. Unbeatable with a sword in his hand, he charged barricades and mounted daring rescues with verve and courage and a constant dazzling smile. Already he was being hailed as the savior of Mistport during the invasion, as though he'd single-handedly turned back the Empire's invasion forces. Owen and Hazel could have told a different story, had they chosen, but they kept their peace. The rebellion needed its heroes to inspire the masses.

It still wasn't clear which of the two Randoms was the real one. They were both powerful fighters and cunning strategists. So the underground, expedient as ever, made use of both of them.

Jenny Psycho was a different matter. The Empire had broken something deep inside her, and it had healed crookedly. But then she was touched by the enigmatic uber-esper, Mater Mundi, and now Jenny Psycho was very powerful indeed. Her presence all but crackled on the air around her, like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. She lived only for revenge, relying on the rebellion to give her focus and purpose. She'd had another name once, and another life, but that seemed a long time ago, and most of the time she barely remembered the minor esper called Diana Vertue.

Owen Deathstalker looked about him unobtrusively, studying his companions thoughtfully. It seemed they'd all changed dramatically in the short time they'd been apart. Jack Random looked thirty years younger, and tough enough to chew up tin cans and spit nails. He looked a lot more like Young Jack, but there was still a clear difference. There was something almost inhuman about Young Jack's unwavering heroism, as though he was really a character from some holoaction drama, stepped out of the viewscreen and into reality with his charisma intact. Unlike his previously older self. Young Jack came across as though he'd never had a doubt or a failure in his life. Besides, he smiled too much. Owen didn't trust anyone who smiled a lot. It wasn't natural, not in this day and age. He still didn't have a clue who the hell Young Jack might really be, but he kept his suspicions to himself. If the man was an impostor, he was damned convincing, and the underground needed heroes to lead the masses into battle.

Even out-on-the-edge weirdos like Jenny Psycho. Owen worried about her. The espers would follow her blindly, just because she had once manifested the Mater Mundi, Our Mother of All Souls. They saw her as a saint now. A crazy saint, but none the less holy for that. And there was no denying she was powerful as hell. When Jenny really let loose, reality trembled. But with someone as maltreated and disturbed as Jenny Psycho, the balance of her mind was only a sometime thing now, and it was only a matter of time before she broke apart along the stress lines. Owen had already decided that when that happened, he wanted to be really far away.

Ruby Journey… looked as disturbing as ever. If she hadn't been Hazel's longtime friend, Owen thought he would probably have shot her on general principles by now. Having Ruby around was like sharing a very confined space with a paranoid attack dog that had slipped its leash. The best you could really hope for with Ruby Journey was to point her in the right direction and then follow the trail of bodies.

What Jack Random saw in her remained a mystery to Owen. Perhaps the man just liked living dangerously. There was no denying he'd been through some amazing changes. It was as though his body had turned back time, denying the passing years to become young and vital again. Owen wondered if aging was a thing of the past for all of them now, since they'd been altered by the Madness Maze. And if so, how long they might all live… Owen tried to visualize a future life stretching endlessly away before him, forever young, and then he smiled and shook his head. Much more likely they'd all be slaughtered down on Golgotha. Get through that first, and he'd worry about eternity later. He made himself concentrate on Random. The professional rebel looked sharp and deadly, eager to throw himself headlong into a battle he'd been looking forward to all his life. Despite himself, Owen worried about that, too. Such determination tended to be dangerously single-minded. Sometimes Owen thought Jack Random would walk right over the body of his best friend to reach the victory he craved.

Owen felt guilty thinking such things about his friends and comrades, but his discovery on Mistworld of how little he'd really understood about Hazel had started him thinking, and he couldn't seem to stop. It seemed they all had obsessions and private agendas, and the old togetherness that the Maze had gifted them with seemed to have vanished during their separation. He could still feel their presence around him, but he could no longer sense what they were thinking or feeling. The closeness that had them finishing each other's thoughts and sentences was gone. They were no longer linked, mind to mind, as though what they'd been through on their various missions had changed them so much they weren't the same people anymore.

He could still feel the Maze's power, burning brightly within them, and no more so than in his ancestor Giles.

Owen studied the man thoughtfully, his hand unconsciously dropping to the sword at his side. Giles was still scowling at the view on the screen, lost in his own thoughts, ignoring the others. Of them all, Giles had seemed the most reluctant to investigate or use the powers the Maze had bestowed on him. As though they were a necessary evil, only to be used when there was no other choice. On the one occasion Owen had raised the matter with him, Giles had said curtly it was enough to be a Deathstalker, and that was the end of that conversation. Owen and Giles had always found it difficult to talk. They came from very different times and backgrounds, for all their shared name, and it seemed the only thing they had in common was the rebellion. Giles had briefly tried to be a father figure to Owen, after he had to kill his own estranged son, the original Dram, but Owen had put a stop to that. He'd had enough of his real father trying to run his life. He was his own man, and if the life he'd made for himself wasn't quite what he'd expected or intended, it was still his, and he guarded it jealously.

And even beyond that, there were the quiet niggling suspicions that murmured at the back of Owen's mind and wouldn't be silenced. He couldn't help thinking that Giles often seemed to be remarkably well informed on the current situation, for a man who had supposedly spent the last 943 years in stasis… He pushed the thought aside, for the moment, and moved over to join his ancestor beside the viewscreen.

"How does it feel to be home again, after so long?" he said quietly. "Is it what you expected?"

"No," said Giles, just as quietly, not looking away from the screen. "Almost a thousand years have passed since I last saw Golgotha, but it seems like only yesterday to me. Everyone I ever knew or cared for down there is long dead and gone to dust. Instead, the place is overrun with clones and espers, the Families have grown soft or corrupt or insane, and the Empire… the Empire I remember no longer exists. I feel like a ghost, fighting a ghost's old battles, not noticing that the world has moved on without me. The Empire was falling apart even in my day, but I never dreamed it would end up like this. I don't know whether to save it or put it out of its misery. It's like a sick distortion of everything I ever believed in. But I will put things right. I will wake the people from the nightmare of history and rebuild the Empire as it should be."

"With a little help from your friends," Owen said lightly.

Giles looked at him for the first time, his solid, lined face impassive. "Of course, kinsman. I couldn't have come this far alone. You and your friends have made all this possible. I'll never forget you. Now, time for a conference, I think, before the battle begins and we all go rushing off in different directions. It may be some time before we can talk again."

"What's there to talk about?" said Ruby, calmly manicuring her nails with the edge of an evil-looking dagger. "We go down, kill everything in a uniform, grab as much loot as we can carry, and then race to see who gets to kill Lionstone. My kind of party."

"There are things we need to discuss," Giles said stubbornly. "The Madness Maze changed us all, but apparently in different ways. According to the reports you filed since you returned, and Ruby, I'm still waiting for yours, it would seem our… abilities have been developing in different ways. I have learned to teleport. Owen has become a psychokinetic. Jack and Ruby have manifested pyrokinetic abilities. And Hazel can summon alternative versions of herself from different timelines. I don't even pretend to understand how that works. None of this is what I expected."

"Why shouldn't we have changed in different ways?" said Random. "We're different people. And what do we really know about the Maze? That it was probably an alien artifact, that no one knows how old it might have been, or what its original purpose was, and that the last people to go through it created the Hadenmen. Not much to go on, is it?"

"Unless you know more about it than you've been letting on," said Hazel. "How about it, Giles? You been holding out on us?"

"Of course not," said Giles. "I did study it briefly, before I was hounded away to Shandrakor, but I never did understand its purpose. I'm not sure if anything human could. Now that it's gone, I don't suppose we'll ever know. What matters is that we have all been bestowed marvelous gifts, and it's up to us to try and understand them. Contrary to Ruby's comments, the fighting down on Golgotha isn't going to be easy or straightforward. Lionstone's got a whole army of Security people down there, plus the various armed forces, plus whatever nasty surprises she has set in place for just such an occasion as this. Never underestimate a ruler's paranoia. Lionstone always knew a day like this might come, and you can bet she's got plans in place to frustrate us."

"Damn," said Hazel. "He makes even longer speeches than you do, Owen. Must run in the Family."

"Is there a point in all this?" said Random. "I would prefer to go down and get involved before it's all over."

"The point," said Giles, "is that we need to split up. Spread our talents as widely as possible, hit Lionstone on as many fronts as possible."

"Hold everything," said Owen. "We've always been strongest together. Remember the force shield we raised on the Wolfling World? That was strong enough to stand off massed disrupter cannon at point-blank range. And Hazel and I worked miracles together on Mistworld. Who knows what we might be capable of if we all stuck together?"

"We don't have the time to experiment," Giles said flatly. "The rebellion needs us now. I've put a lot of thought into this."

"Without consulting us," said Ruby.

"Right," said Random. "When was all this planning going on? The rest of us have been working our asses off on our missions."

"I don't sleep much," said Giles. "Now pay attention, please. We need to split into the following groups…"

"I'm not happy about this," said Hazel. "The last time we let the underground split us up, David and the SummerIsle went off on their own. Now David's dead, and Kid Death's joined the opposition."

"I miss David," Owen said suddenly. "I never really got to know him, and now I never will, but I miss him now he's gone. I'm the last of the direct line. The last of the Deathstalkers."

"That's not what's upsetting you," said Hazel. "You're just angry because since Virimonde's been destroyed, you can't go home again. You can never have your old life back. That's all you ever really wanted out of this rebellion, isn't it?"

"I don't know," said Owen. "Maybe. I never wanted to be a warrior. I was happy, being a scholar and an historian, with no pressures and no responsibilities. But I wouldn't go back, even if I could. I've seen too much. And David… he was a pain in the ass, but he had potential. There was so much I could have taught him… and now he's gone. Murdered by Kit SummerIsle. The same smiling bastard who killed my father. Whatever happens down below, the SummerIsle is mine."

"Good," said Giles approvingly. "You're starting to sound like a Deathstalker. You've come a long way, historian."

"And if I don't always like what I've made of myself, whom do I blame?" said Owen. "Sometimes I think I've become everything I ever hated. A man of violence, driven by revenge. Just another pawn in my father's plots and schemes to bring down the Empress. Just another barbarian at the gates of Empire."

There was an awkward silence, broken by an urgent chiming from the viewscreen. Giles switched to the new incoming signal, and Golgotha disappeared, replaced by Finlay Campbell, Evangeline Shreck, and Julian Skye, their faces filling the screen. They looked harried.

"What's holding you people up?" said Finlay, not bothering with any amenities. "We need you down here now. Everything's gone to hell in a handcart in the Parade of the Endless, the one city above all we have to hold. We can't tell who's winning anymore, if anyone is. Our people are all out on the streets, doing what they can, but we need you to bring things together. Just your presence will help to inspire the fighters. You've become heroes, legends, not least through Toby Shreck's coverage, and people will follow you where they won't follow us."

"Tell me more about the situation," said Giles, refusing to be pressured. "Who's on top at the moment?"

"Depends on who you talk to," said Evangeline. "Things are falling apart in the governing bodies incredibly quickly, and we're doing all we can to take advantage of that, but then, it's all been precariously balanced for a long time. It only needed a spark to set the people off. If we'd known they were this close to the edge, we'd have provided a spark ourselves, even if we had to make one up. But there are still a hell of a lot of troops and Security people out in the streets, and they're a damned sight better armed than most of our people. So we need you. Your powers could be the turning point. God knows we need one. We're fighting on so many fronts it's hard to make any real breakthrough."

"What about the Hadenmen?" said Owen, cutting in. "I've been worried about them. I woke them from their Tomb because we needed them, but after all, they were the official Enemies of Humanity before Shub came along. Are they behaving themselves?"

"Surprisingly enough, yes," said Julian Skye. "Their ships are only taking out the targets we gave them, and their ground fighting has proved a blessing. They make great shock troops. Half the time, the army forces run away rather than face them. Not that I blame them in the slightest. But all in all, the augmented men have been behaving impeccably. We've even had reports they've been taking prisoners, rather than just killing everything that moves, which surprised everyone. Not least the prisoners. Maybe they found God, in their Tomb. So, one of your better ideas, Deathstalker."

"Right," said Evangeline. "Now if you're quite happy, perhaps we could return to more pressing matters, namely the unholy mess in the Parade of the Endless…"

"Get your collective asses down here," said Finlay sharply. "Right now. We have to hold this city."

"Understood," said Owen. "We'll be there. We haven't come this far to miss out on the ending."

Finlay nodded, and cut off the signal. The image of their serious faces barely had time to clear from the viewscreen before another signal came in. Everyone in the great Hall straightened up a little as a new face filled the screen, and a great many hands dropped instinctively to weapons. The broad, shaggy wolf's-head looking down on them was dominated by the long muzzle full of sharp teeth, and the darkly gleaming eyes above, large and intelligent and almost overpoweringly ferocious. It was the Wolfling, the last of his kind, only survivor of the Empire's first attempt to build a superior fighting man. Last of a race butchered and slaughtered by a fearful humankind. Once guardian of the Madness Maze, and now protector of the sleeping Darkvoid Device. Giles smiled broadly at him.

"Wulf! I've been waiting for you to contact me! When will you be here?"

"I won't," said the Wolfling. His deep, dark voice was as much a growl as anything else, but an underlying sadness and tiredness took most of the threat out of it. "I told you, Giles. I've had enough of fighting. I've seen too much death and destruction to take pleasure in any more. Lionstone has to fall. I know that. But she'll go whether I'm there or not. You don't need me anymore, Giles. You've moved beyond me."

"But… we spent so long arguing and scheming over how we'd pull the Iron Bitch down! Don't do this to me, Wulf. Don't leave me here alone. You're my oldest friend, all I have left to remind me of the old days."

"That was always the difference between us, Giles. You want to remember the past, and I just want to forget it. Let your hatred go, Giles. I know all about hatred. Give it too much hold over you, and it'll eat you alive till there's nothing left in you but it. And that's no way to live. Do what you have to because it's the right thing to do, not because you enjoy it. I'm tired, Giles. I've lived too long, seen the Empire change beyond recognition, watched my race fall out of history and into legend. I think it's time for me to let go and follow them."

"Isn't there anything I can do for you?" said Giles, almost plaintively.

"Yes," said the Wolfling. "You can kill Lionstone for me. Whatever happens, she mustn't be allowed to escape. Kill her, Giles."

"Yes," said Giles. "I can do that for you."

The Wolfling nodded his great shaggy head, and the viewscreen went blank. Giles stared at it for a long moment, and then nodded slowly, as though listening to some private, inner voice. He turned back to the others, and his face was entirely calm and composed, as though daring the others to comment on the emotions they'd seen him display. When he spoke, his voice was brisk and formal.

"Aliens. We haven't discussed them yet. So far, there's been no sightings of any alien craft anywhere in the Empire since the attack on Golgotha, but we can't afford to forget them. They're out there somewhere, no doubt watching and planning. It's vital we get the rebellion over with as quickly as possible, and order restored. We can't afford to be caught helpless and divided by an invading alien force."

"And let's not forget Shub," said Owen. "There's always a chance the rogue AIs might try and take advantage of our divisions by launching an attack of their own."

"God, you're a cheerful lot," said Ruby. "Look, let's just get out of here and get this show on the road. We'll worry about aliens and AIs and plagues of frogs as and when they make an appearance."

"Right," said Hazel. "We're wasting time here."

"Good planning is never a waste," said Giles coldly. "Now pay attention. This is how we're going to do it. Owen's been doing some research on old records of the Imperial Palace, back when it was first being constructed. I suppose his being an historian had to come in useful someday. The only way into the Palace today is by the underground train system, run and monitored by the Palace's security systems. The train stations are well guarded, and the train compartments themselves are fitted with lethal gas jets, just in case. However, Owen has discovered records of a number of old maintenance tunnels, long abandoned and apparently forgotten. We can use those to bypass the Security guards entirely, and gain access to the trains safely. Owen, Hazel, and I will undertake this mission."

"Hold everything," said the AI Ozymandius in Owen's ear. "Sorry to interrupt, boss, but your ancestor's words have tripped a file hidden deep within my memory by your father. He knew about these trains and tunnels, and has given me all the necessary security codes to get you onto the trains and into the Palace."

"Are you sure about this?" said Owen, subvocalizing. "If you get just one of those codes wrong, we're all dead."

"Trust me," said the AI. "This is the real thing, Owen. Your father believed in planning ahead."

Owen passed on the AI's words, and there was an awkward pause. Owen had always maintained he'd used his Maze powers to completely destroy the treacherous AI Ozymandius when it turned out to be working for the Empire, and tried to use control words it had implanted in Owen and Hazel to make them kill the others. Only sometime later Oz, or something claiming to be Oz, turned up in Owen's head again. No one but Owen could hear its voice, but the information it occasionally volunteered was always reliable. For the rest of the time, Owen tried hard to ignore it.

"Your father would naturally have tried to gain access to those codes," Giles said slowly. "I suppose it's possible he could have hidden them in your AI for safekeeping. There's no way of testing them here. I suppose we'll find out whether they're the real thing when we get there. It would certainly simplify things a lot. Even with our powers, breaking out of the Palace station was always going to be a major undertaking. So, it would appear we'll just have to trust Oz. Whoever or whatever he really is."

"Thanks a whole bunch," Oz murmured in Owen's ear. Owen didn't pass that on.

Hazel shook her head. "Great. We're going to risk all our lives on a voice in Owen's head only he can hear. What do we do for an encore, make a sacrifice to the gods and read our fortune in its entrails?"

"Don't tempt me," said Giles. "Next, Jack Random and Ruby Journey will lead the gravity-sled attack on the Family Towers, as arranged with the underground. For the moment the Clans seem to have decided they're on no one's side but their own, but that won't last. The outlawing of David and the threatened mechanization of their planets hit them where they lived, but it won't take them long to realize that their financial and social well-being is irrevocably linked to the Empire as it is. A successful rebellion by the lower orders would be their worst nightmare come true. So, faced with the loss of their wealth and position, they'll finally have to commit their troops to defending the Empress, on the grounds that the crazy devil you know is still preferable to the devil with blood in his eyes and centuries of grudges to catch up on. At this stage, their troops might just be enough to turn things in the Empress's favor. It's therefore vital we keep them pinned down in their Towers, well away from the main action. We want them preoccupied with their own survival, rather than the Empress's.

"Random, we've been through the logistics of this with the underground. You know what to do. A flotilla of gravity sleds is waiting just outside the Parade of the Endless for you to lead them in. Apparently competition to man the sleds, and follow you into almost certain death for the majority, was very hard-fought. It would seem there are still a great many people who still believe in the professional rebel. But Random, while you're out there enjoying yourself raining death and destruction down on the heads of the Lords, remember we still need some of them left alive afterward to oversee the economy once the rebellion is over."

"I'll see what I can do," said Random calmly. "No promises."

Giles sighed, and shook his head. "Ruby Journey will, of course, accompany you. If only because no one else feels safe around her."

"You say the nicest things," said Ruby.

"If they're going, I'm going, too," said Alexander Storm firmly. "I haven't waited this long to miss out on the downfall of the Families. I've worked and fought all my life to see them go down in flames, and I'm damned if I'm being left behind. I might not be as young as some people, but I can still carry my weight."

"Oh, let him come," said Ruby. "He'll only sulk otherwise."

"Of course you're coming with us, Alex," Random said reassuringly. "I wouldn't dream of doing this without my old comrade at my side."

"You're using that word old again," said Storm ominously.

"All right, how about ancient?" said Ruby.

"Ruby…" said Random.

She sniffed, and went back to manicuring her nails with her dagger. She'd come to accept that Random had a blind spot where Storm was concerned. He still thought of his old friend as he used to be, when Storm was young and swift and daring and hell on wheels with a sword in his hand. He couldn't seem to accept that while he was young and strong again, Storm wasn't. Ruby decided to keep a watchful eye on Storm. She didn't care tuppence if he got himself killed, but she was damned if she'd let him drag Random down with them. In fact, it might be better all around if a stray bullet took Storm out right at the beginning. No one would notice where one stray shot came from, once the fighting started. Of course, she'd have to be careful. If Random ever found out… Ruby Journey frowned, thinking hard.

"Now that that's decided," said Giles loudly, bringing all eyes back to him, "we come to Young Jack Random. You will make your own landing dirtside, and team up with Finlay Campbell and Julian Skye. Your reputation will help to inspire their people, and throw a fright into the defending troops. Your mission is to take out and occupy the Security troops' main command center in the Parade of the Endless. They've still got comm channels open, so they're practically running the city's defenses single-handed. Once they're out of the loop, the Security forces will fall apart, and the Parade of the Endless will be ours for the taking. And once the city is ours, only the Empress herself stands between us and control of Golgotha. And from Golgotha, we will form the new Empire that rises from the ashes of the old."

"Rah rah rah," said Hazel. "Go, team, go. Save the inspirational pep talks, Giles. We all know why we're here. And can I just remind you that the rebellion is far from over. Right now, we're nothing more than a handful of terrorists with prices on our heads."

"Your point being?" Giles said icily.

"That we take things one step at a time. We can dream about the future once we've taken control of the present. I don't want any of us getting shot in the back because we were too busy dreaming of running the Empire instead of paying proper attention to what's going on around us."

"Don't worry, Hazel," said Young Jack calmly. "We will prevail. We are heroes. It is our destiny."

"And somebody shut him up before I puke," said Hazel. "I am not a hero, and never have been. Heroes tend to come to glorious, painful, and rather sudden ends, and have statues put up to them by the survivors. Personally, I would much rather be a survivor than a statue."

"Right," said Ruby. "We haven't talked about the loot yet, either. Can we talk about the loot?"

"Somebody sit on her," said Giles. "I'm getting a headache. And finally…"

"About time you got around to me," said Jenny Psycho, scowling fiercely. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me."

"If only that was possible," said Giles. "You will orchestrate the use of espers on the planet's surface, and liaise among the various rebel factions. Like the two Randoms, the espers should follow you unquestioningly, just because of who you are. Try and keep your people under control. Espers can do a lot of damage when they're all pointed in the same direction, but the last thing we need are esper loose cannon going off all over the place."

"You presume too much," said Jenny Psycho. "You're not in charge here. In the end, the underground will win this war, and the underground will decide what replaces Lionstone's Empire. We've been preparing for this day for centuries. Espers, clones, the committed, and the faithful. We won't be brushed aside in the moment of our triumph by a bunch of newcomers, even if they are heroes and legends."

"We can argue about who gets the credit later," said Random, cutting in firmly on what threatened to be a long tirade. "First, we have to win this war. Let's make a move, people. It's time to go to work."

"Right," said Hazel.

Owen grinned about him. "See you all in Hell."

In the huge Court of the Imperial Palace, the Hell that Lionstone had made was growing worse. The surroundings continued to change from moment to moment, reflecting the Empress's darkening mood, and the underworld grew steadily more disturbing. The light was more scarlet than crimson now, absorbing all other colors, and the stench of sulfur was almost overpowering. There were other smells, too: piss and shit and blood, the smells of fear. Batwinged shapes floated lazily overhead, dark shadows too high up to be seen clearly, like cinders coughed up from the depths of the Pit. The maids-in-waiting clustered at the foot of the Iron Throne looked more like demons than ever. And the open Court itself was studded with row upon row of men and women impaled on stakes. There were so many of them Dram assumed they had to be holograms, but he didn't ask. He didn't want to know. Their screams had sounded real enough. He stood where he'd been told to stand, beside the Iron Throne, and did his best not to draw attention to himself.

Lionstone had grown too restless to stay sitting on the Throne, and now paced back and forth before it, shouting orders at people on the floating viewscreens. She was still in control of herself, but her rage grew with every reported rebel victory or Imperial setback. Lionstone had stopped seeing it as a political struggle for control of the Empire, and was now taking it as a series of personal attacks. Everyone was out to get her. No one could be trusted. Every Imperial failure was a betrayal of her. She gave orders in endless streams, sometimes contradicting herself. Dram didn't point this out to her. Lionstone's legendary self-control was finally fragmenting in the face of so many attacks on so many fronts.

Valentine Wolfe had been summoned to Court, and stood patiently before the Throne, poisoning the air just by being there and looking pleased as Punch about it. His long black curls had been freshly oiled, falling to his shoulders in artful disarray. His mascaraed eyes gleamed with fever-bright intensity from his bone-pale face, and his scarlet smile seemed wider than ever. He was calmly pulling the legs from some squealing black thing in his hands. Dram hoped it was an insect. Valentine Wolfe had come to Hell, and looked perfectly at home there.

Dram stood facing him, not because he chose to, but because Lionstone hadn't given him permission to move. He was still officially in charge of the Imperial Fleet, when Lionstone allowed him to be. He'd been doing his best, but his lack of real experience limited his insights and his options. Mostly, things were moving too fast for him to keep up. The Fleet was scattered all across the Empire, and the increasingly isolated ships were too busy fighting off Hadenmen and rebel mutineers to pay him much attention. Even if he'd had anything worthwhile to offer. Lionstone suddenly stopped her pacing and whirled on the two men.

"You! I should have you both executed! This is all your fault! I had things under control until you went mad on Virimonde! All you had to do was pacify one insignificant backwater planet, and you couldn't even do that for me. No, you were too busy running wild and killing anything that moved. Fools! Even a mechanized planet will need some people to work it! What use is there in being an Empress if you don't have peasants to rule?"

Both Dram and Valentine had been following Lionstone's specific instructions on Virimonde, but neither of them was stupid enough to remind her of that. Lionstone glared at them both, and the maids stirred menacingly, picking up on her mood. Dram could feel cold beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He felt very much that he would have liked to turn and run, except that a maid would undoubtably have brought him down before he managed a dozen steps, and besides, there was nowhere he could run to. He had no friends anywhere after Virimonde. Not that he regretted one delightful moment of his time there. He'd never felt so alive. No, for better or worse, his destiny was tied to Lionstone's, the woman who had brought him into life from the cells of his dead original.

"I'm going to have to send you out to defend me, because you're all I've got," the Empress said finally, recovering some of her calm. "Valentine, you will take control of all the war machines currently on Golgotha. There aren't that many, but do what you can with them. Most of my beautiful engines of destruction are still stuck on Virimonde, and by the time I could get them back here the struggle would already be over. One way or the other. So don't waste any of them. Dram, I want you up on the surface, leading the troops in person. They'll follow the Warrior Prime. I'm giving control of the fleet over to Beckett. He was right, damn him. He has the experience. All I can do is hope the bastard stays loyal."

"I've done my best," Dram said cautiously. "But I'm sure you can trust Beckett to do his best, too."

"Very good," said Valentine. "Polite but supportive, without actually meaning anything. If we survive this, you may have a bright future as a courtier."

"I don't like leaving you here undefended," said Dram, ostentatiously ignoring the Wolfe.

"Investigator Razor and Lord SummerIsle are already waiting in my antechamber," said the Empress. "And there are… others on their way, too. Now get out of my sight, both of you. And don't fail me."

"I wouldn't dare," murmured Dram, and he and Valentine Wolfe bowed low and departed. They passed Razor and Kid Death coming in, but kept their eyes carefully averted. In her present state, Lionstone might well take a warning glance as evidence of treason. Dram and the Wolfe passed through the Court's great double doors, and out of Hell, walking as fast as they thought they could get away with.

Investigator Razor and Lord Kit SummerIsle approached the Iron Throne at a somewhat slower pace, stopped a safe distance from the maids-in-waiting, and bowed respectfully to the Empress. When they raised their heads, they were disturbed to find Lionstone smiling at them. It was truly said that the Empress was at her most dangerous when she was smiling. Her sense of humor was… not like other people's, and tended toward the vindictive. Razor and the SummerIsle stood their ground, faces carefully blank, and kept their hands well away from the weapons they'd been ordered to wear in her presence.

"Well, well," said Lionstone lightly. "My two favorite killers. How nice. Razor, I should be angry with you. I sent you to conquer Mistworld in my name, and you failed. But it wasn't really your fault. So many people failed me on that mission, but you stayed true. And Kid Death, my smiling assassin. You brought me the young Deathstalker's head, the only good thing to come out of that debacle. You always brought me the nicest presents, SummerIsle. I've got it here on a spike, somewhere.

"It is good to have you both back here with me. Good to have people around me I can depend on. Your duties here are simple, to protect me from any and all dangers. The odds against any of the rebels getting this far are vanishingly small, especially since I had the extra esp-blockers installed, but it seems I can no longer depend on all my people to do their duty. There are many layers of defense between my Palace and the surface, not all of them human, and I am not entirely helpless myself… but I'll feel better with you two watching over me. Any comments? Bearing in mind that they'd better be extremely constructive and to the point if you like your heads where they are."

"An honor to serve Your Majesty, as always," Razor said smoothly. "I take great pride in the confidence that you have invested in me. But I feel I should point out that with my sword to guard you, I really don't see the need for the SummerIsle's presence. I am a professional fighting man of long standing. The young Lord is, at best, a gifted amateur."

"An enthusiastic amateur with an exceptional track record has to be a better bet than a tired old man who's already been retired once," said Kit calmly. "Send this ancient obsolete away, Your Majesty. You don't need him while you've got me, and I don't want to be distracted trying to keep him alive as well as you, Your Highness."

"You don't have to like each other," said Lionstone. "Just do your job. And don't get too close to the maids. I haven't fed them recently." She smiled fondly at her two defenders. "Don't worry, my most loyal subjects. Once this nonsense is over, and order has been restored, as it will be, I promise you both all the killing you can handle. The executions will last all day and all night, and blood will flow in the streets like tides."

She turned away from them, ignoring their deep bows, and switched the floating viewscreens to the main news channels. The rebels were still shutting down military and Security comm channels as fast as new ones were set up, but they left the news channels alone. They wanted the people to see what was going on. All the floating screens showed a different news report, from all over Golgotha, but mainly from the Parade of the Endless, where the real fighting was. Urgent voices spilled out into the Court—loud, overlapping, almost hysterical. News of the rebellion was coming in from a hundred worlds at once, and the news stations were going crazy trying to keep up with it all. Lionstone fixed her attention on screen after screen, trying for an overview of the situation. She no longer trusted her own Security reports.

Scenes of bloodshed and fighting in the streets and buildings going up in flames filled the viewscreens, interrupted occasionally by news reporters and commentators. Their faces were flushed, and they talked too quickly. There'd never been a story like this, and with so much going on, most of it coming in live, there was little or no censorship anymore. Almost delirious with the truth, news editors threw caution to the winds and put everything on the air, irrespective of what it was or where it came from. Commentators were saying what they really meant for the first time in their lives, and couldn't seem to get enough of it. Neither could the audience, according to the latest viewing figures.

It seemed all those who weren't actually out in the streets fighting the revolution were glued to their viewscreens watching it. This is history in the making, said the news stations, and for once they weren't exaggerating. Lionstone came across a familiar face and stalked over to that screen to stand before it. Toby Shreck's fat sweating face stared back at her. There was chaos behind him, people running back and forth with weapons in their hands. Thick smoke drifted on the air from a gutted, fire-blackened building in the background. A troop of guards, their uniforms torn and bloody, ran past in full retreat, jostling the camera. Toby's face was smudged with smoke, and his clothes were a mess. He had to shout to be heard over the bedlam around him.

"This is Toby Shreck, for Imperial News, reporting from the center of the Parade of the Endless. Rebel forces are overrunning the whole city, driving demoralized and decimated Imperial forces before them. The slaughter is incredible. There are bodies everywhere. The wounded on both sides are being left to die in the streets because there's no more room in the hospitals. Civilians and non-combatants are running for their lives. There seems to be nowhere safe left for them to shelter. Imperial forces and the newly arrived war machines are treating everyone but themselves as the enemy. Security forces have been dragging civilians to the city squares and executing them, as a sign to others not to support the rebellion. If anything, this has had the opposite effect. Rebels are being seen as liberators. The Empress recently released a large number of the Grendel aliens onto the streets. No one knows how many civilians they killed. The body parts are too mixed up to make a count possible. Heroic espers from the underground took the aliens down eventually. This insane action on the part of the Empress would seem to indicate a growing desperation on her part, and a total disregard for the safety of her subjects."

"The fat traitor!" Lionstone cut the signal off, her eyes bulging with rage. "I'll have his head for this! How dare he!"

She ran from screen to screen, glaring at them as though she could force them to give her good news. But everywhere the story was the same. People fighting in anonymous streets, with smoke and fire in the background. Screams and shouts and incoherent orders. Flashing swords and axes, and blood flying on the air. The humming of force shields and the roar of discharging energy weapons. Quick shots of rubble that used to be buildings, and wild-eyed, traumatized children soaked in their own blood and others'. Women crying over still and broken bodies. Limp forms hanging from lampposts. Some wore uniforms. Some did not.

Swept along in the thrill of the unfolding story, the newscasters and commentators had given up trying to sound calm and objective. They grew steadily more excited and disheveled, gulping at glasses of water as their voices roughened from overuse. The first rebel victories were coming in. First it was cities, and then colonies, and finally whole planets, torn from Empire rule, starting at the Rim and working inward. Some channels still loyal to the Empress blanked out rather than show such news, while others were taken over by victorious rebel forces. Lionstone shut these channels down, but found it harder and harder to find broadcasts telling her what she wanted to hear. Eventually she shut them all down, and screamed into her comm implant for General Shaw Beckett. His face appeared on a screen floating before her. He looked tired. The top buttons of his uniform were undone.

"What do you want, Lionstone? I'm busy."

"Don't you dare talk to us that way, Beckett! This is your Empress! We have new orders for you, effective immediately. Identify all planets where rebel forces have taken control and scorch them, one after the other. You are not empowered to accept surrenders. We want those planets dead and lifeless."

Beckett stared impassively at her out of the screen. "And the billions of innocents who would die?"

"Expendable. They should have fought harder against the rebels. Confirm our order, General."

"I regret I am unable to do so, Your Majesty. Much as it pains me. What remains of the fleet is under constant Hadenman attack. Many of my ships have been destroyed or boarded. Those I have left are scattered too widely to be recalled. We don't have enough ships in any one place to attempt even a single scorching. We're having to fight with everything we've got just to survive. Empress, I would estimate more than 40 percent of your fleet has been destroyed, or is in enemy hands."

Lionstone lost it completely, and shouted and screamed abuse at Beckett's unmoved image. She threatened him with everything from demotion to immediate arrest and execution if he wouldn't carry out her orders, and still he wouldn't answer her. Lionstone finally regained some self-control and stood panting before the viewscreen, her hands clenched into fists. Beckett waited patiently while she got her breath back. Lionstone fixed him with a cold glare.

"Very well. Again, we are failed by those we are forced to trust. New orders. General. All starcruisers are to return immediately to protect the homeworld. No excuses, no exceptions. We require a shield of ships around Golgotha. No one is to pass. Whatever happens, the homeworld must not fall. Is that clear. General?"

Beckett sighed deeply. "Lionstone, it's over. We're too far away. Even if we were to abandon the people we're protecting from the Hadenmen, by the time we'd fought our way past their ships, it would all be over on Golgotha, bar the shouting. All I can offer you are my best wishes, and my hopes for your personal safety. There's nothing I can do for you anymore. Good-bye, Lionstone."

"Traitor!" screamed Lionstone, as his face disappeared from the viewscreen. She breathed heavily, her eyes wide and staring at some private inner image, and then she moved quickly among the floating screens, calling up Captains in her fleet personally. Many didn't answer, for one reason or another, and those who did couldn't help her. They had their own problems. She saved the E class ships, her pride and joy, for last, but only one answered. The Endurance.

The bridge was in flames. Emergency sirens and warnings were sounding everywhere, overlapping each other. Crew members sat doggedly at their seats, manning the surviving stations with desperate concentration. Shouted orders and responses could barely be heard over the bedlam, but the screams were clear enough. Dead bodies scattered the bridge, some charred and blackened figures still sitting at their exploded stations. Smoke was building faster than the extractor fans could clear it. Wounded were sobbing and crying out, but no one had the time to tend them. Lionstone yelled for someone to report to her, and finally a disheveled minor officer lurched to a halt before the viewscreen. One of his sleeves was blackened and crisped from flames only recently beaten out, and the hair on one side of his head had been burned away. Half his face was roasted an angry red. He pulled himself to something like attention and saluted the screen. His eyes were wild and staring, like some creature confronted by a forest fire. Lionstone glared at him.

"Who are you? Where's the Captain? What's happening on the Endurance!"

"Navigation Officer Robert Campbell reporting, Your Majesty. The Captain's dead. We're under attack by three Hadenman ships. We're faster than they are, but they've got better weapons and shields. Our shields are failing. We've seriously disabled one of the Hadenman ships, but doing so drained our reserves almost to zero. Power levels all over the ship are dropping fast. But we won't give up, Your Majesty. We'll fight till they tear this ship apart around us. If nothing else, we'll buy you time."

A massive explosion rocked the bridge. The hull had been breached. Air and smoke shrieked out the widening hole. People not strapped into seats clung to their workstations to avoid being dragged away. The lights flickered and went out, replaced by the dull red glow of emergency lighting. There was only one siren sounding now, loud and piercing, like a lost soul falling into eternal darkness. Robert Campbell clung to the edge of the screen and tried to shout something, but he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He pulled himself away from the screen, heading across the devastated bridge toward the emergency exit. All around him, the workstations were exploding one by one, throwing their dead operators away or blowing them apart where they sat. And then the screen went suddenly blank, and the Court was quiet again. Lionstone stared at the screen for a long moment.

"Brave boy," she said finally. "Maybe I should have put him in charge. And the Endurance is gone. The finest of the E class ships. The ship that was supposed to be unbeatable."

"To be fair, I don't think the designers had Hademan ships in mind when they said that," said Razor, apparently unmoved. "And it did take three of the legendary golden ships to take down one E class ship."

"The ship didn't fail me," said Lionstone, her mood changing yet again. "It was the crew! Cowards and traitors and incompetents! Is there no one I can trust?"

Razor and Kid Death shared a glance, but said nothing.

Up on the surface of Golgotha, in the teeming streets of the Parade of the Endless, the fighting was getting dirty. The Imperial forces were being forced back on every front, and were not taking it at all well. They shot at everything that didn't wear a uniform, and pulled down buildings to cover their retreat. They had tried using women and children as human shields, but tended to shoot them themselves when they couldn't keep up. Most non-combatants had fled the city by now. Thick black smoke from the many burning buildings had gathered overhead, plunging the city into an early twilight. With most of the streetlights smashed, flickering crimson light from the hundreds of fires provided the only illumination. Dark figures moved through the bloody light with blood on their minds.

The Imperial forces hadn't given up yet. The Grendels might all be dead, but there were still other, secret, unpleasant weapons they hadn't used yet. Esp-blockers had been rushed to the front lines to hold back the elves, but the esper brains in their glass cases were limited in number and range. So they brought out the experimental living esp-blockers, captured espers brainwashed and conditioned into obedient shells. They weren't very bright, and had to be led everywhere in chains, but they were effective, and their range was staggering. The rebel espers had no choice but to fall back and make way for the standard fighters. The rebel advance slowed to a crawl in those areas, giving the Empire forces time to regroup.

So the clones went in, crowds of people with the same faces, armed to the teeth and wearing Born To Burn T-shirts in memory of the fallen Stevie Blues. Massed disrupter fire slammed through their ranks, cutting them down, but there were thousands of them, and they would not be stopped. They just kept running into the fire, jumping over the fallen, until the survivors stormed the barricades and fell on the troops. They always went for the esp-blockers first, giving them merciful deaths so that the elves could come swarming in behind them. A few hours after they'd been introduced, there were no living esp-blockers left anywhere in the city.

The underground brought forward its own awful weapons. Rollers sent razor-edged psistorms barreling down the streets, ripping apart all they touched. Soldiers spontaneously combusted, burning with a fire no water could extinguish, as pyros went to work. And then there were the mindbombs, simple devices built around esper brain tissues. When activated, they spread madness and horror through all nonespers in the vicinity. Affected troops clawed their own eyes out, or turned on each other, and tore their companions limb from limb. The rebels pressed forward, overrunning Imperial positions again and again, and then Valentine's war machines appeared on the scene, and everything changed.

Huge hulking constructions stamped and rumbled down the wider streets, built-in disrupters cutting through the packed rebel ranks. Hundreds died in the first few minutes. People scrambled for cover, only to find there was nowhere the war machines couldn't reach. They smashed through walls and entire buildings to get at their prey, and projectile weapons were no use against them. Hand disrupters couldn't do enough damage to stop them. Espers came running from all directions to set their powers against the machines. Polters blasted them with chunks of fallen masonry, and barely dented the metal sides with their minds. Pyros swathed them with flames. But still the machines moved inexorably forward, street by street, block by block, retaking all the ground the Imperial forces had ceded. Troops pressed in after the machines, but were careful never to get in front of them. The war machines shot at everything that moved. Valentine could have distinguished between the two forces, but couldn't be bothered. He was having too much fun. His mind moved across the city, carried by the war machines, while his body lay safely cocooned in Tower Wolfe. He looked upon the death and destruction he was causing through a thousand sensors, and found it to be good.

The espers massed themselves before the oncoming machines, and prayed for a miracle. They got one. The Mater Mundi, Our Mother of All Souls, once again manifested through the entire esper force, burning brightly in every man and woman. For a moment they shone like gods, lighting the streets around them, and then their minds came together in a single expression of will, and an unstoppable psistorm raged through the streets, tearing the war machines apart and scattering the pieces. Metal shrapnel rained down on the retreating Imperial forces, until they, too, were swept away by the advancing psistorm. Every esper in the city roared with triumph, and the Parade of the Endless shook with the sound of it.

In his fortified retreat in Tower Wolfe, Valentine was thrown rudely from his war machines, and sat trembling and panting in his control center. One by one, the systems around him were shutting down, wrecked beyond repair. Valentine himself was dazed and disoriented, but lucky to be alive, and he knew it. The esper attack had followed him home and would have destroyed anything less than his chemically augmented and expanded mind. He could still feel the fringes of the esper contruct searching for him, as yet unable to get a grip on his slippery, evasive mind. He would have to leave Tower Wolfe and seek sanctuary elsewhere. But concentrate as he might, he couldn't think of anywhere else that would welcome him. Even Lionstone wouldn't want him after he'd failed to bring her victory with his war machines. Valentine Wolfe sat alone in the heart of his Family Tower and wondered what to do next.

The maintenance tunnels for the Palace's underground train systems had been sealed off and abandoned centuries ago, and the wait hadn't improved them. They had that particular darkness unique to the deep underground, an absolute blackness unreachable by any glint of surface light. They were cold as arctic ice, and the air was thick and musty. Even the smallest noise seemed to echo on forever, as though the tunnels were grateful for any sound after so many years of silence. And through the dark, claustrophobic passageways came Owen and Hazel and Giles, stumbling along the uneven floor and keeping their heads down to avoid banging them on the low ceiling. The cold barely touched them, thanks to the Maze, but even their incredible eyesight was useless in such utter darkness. Owen and Giles both carried lamps, their stark white light gleaming unpleasantly on the curving tunnel walls. Hazel had the map Owen had drawn out of computer records almost as old as the tunnels themselves. The passages interlinked with each other in an endless maze, and only one carefully traced route would get the rebels where they were going in time for it to do any good.

The pallid light on the pockmarked, cable-strewn walls looked increasingly disturbing, almost organic. Hazel muttered something about moving through the bowels of the earth, but no one laughed. They didn't feel much like speaking, lost in their own thoughts. After all the time and blood they'd given to the struggle, they were finally heading toward a confrontation that could mean the end of Lionstone's rule and the way things were. Owen tried to visualize the kind of Empire he might be responsible for creating and wasn't surprised to find he couldn't. As an historian he'd studied any number of ancient societies, including some that were officially banned from the records these days, based on all kinds of politics and beliefs, but all he'd ever known personally was the Empire of the Families and the Iron Throne. Random and Hazel had taken it in turns to explain their differing views of a democracy-based Empire, but much as he wanted to believe in them, they just sounded like chaos to him. And he was damned if he could see how he'd fit into either of their futures. But then, he'd never fitted in Lionstone's Empire, either. He smiled briefly, as it occurred to him that the chances of his living to see any of these futures were remote anyway, which made his worries somewhat irrelevant. Let him survive this mission, and he'd worry about such things then.

He still wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do when he finally forced his way into the Imperial Court and faced his Empress in the Iron Throne. All his life he'd been raised to revere and honor the Throne, irrespective of whoever occupied it, sworn to serve it all his life and to his death, if necessary. The Iron Throne was the source of all duty and honor and other things that could not easily be put into words. Overturning the Throne was like overturning God. Owen Deathstalker was an aristocrat, even if he had been outlawed, and he supposed in some ways he always would be. But he'd seen too much of the dark side of Empire, of the suffering and horrors on which his society of wealth and privilege was based, and he couldn't just look away and pretend he'd never seen it. Duty and honor and sheer humanity demanded he put a stop to it.

So he became a leader of the rebellion, a hero and an inspiration to others, and his life had been given over to avenging others whose lives had been broken and discarded on an Empress's whim. He was fighting now for all the poor and downtrodden, the espers and the clones and the other unpeople, for everyone whose lives had been ruined by an Empress who was supposed to protect them. And if sometimes he felt like an impostor, or unworthy to be part of the struggle, he comforted himself with the thought that no one else could do what he was doing. The Madness Maze had made him more than human, so he preserved his humanity by wielding his powers in the service of Humanity.

And all because Lionstone had outlawed him and taken away his life of comforts and everything he ever cared for. He tried to tell himself it wasn't just revenge, that his fate gave him an insight into how so many other people had felt when the Empress ruined their lives, but he was basically too honest to lie well, even to himself. He wanted to make her suffer as he had, by taking away what she valued most.

But in the end none of that mattered. None of those reasons had brought him here, stumbling along in the darkness under the earth to topple an Empire. He was fighting for a child who'd lain crying helplessly in the blood-soaked snows of a Mistport back alley after he'd cut her down without thinking. She was a Blood addict, a street ganger, and she'd tried to kill him, but none of that mattered. He'd been forced into a position where he'd had no choice but to cripple and then kill her, and that didn't matter either. What mattered was that no one should have had to live like her, or die like her. Just a poor lost soul in the Hell Lionstone made. Her cries haunted him, and her blood would always be on his hands. He would overturn an Empire for her, throw down a whole way of life and everything he ever believed in, and he knew even then it wouldn't be enough to satisfy his guilt.

The tunnel they were following finally reached an end in a sealed hatchway. Owen and Giles put their shoulders and their Maze-given strength to it, and the heavy steel plate wrenched open on squealing hinges. Light spilled into the tunnel, so bright they all had to look away for a moment, till their eyes adjusted. Owen turned off his lamp, leaned out of the opening, and took a cautious look around, then signaled the others it was all clear. They took it in turns to jump lightly down from the tunnel opening to the station platform below.

The station was a massive, wide-open cavern, all gleaming tiles and overhead lights, with a single tube train standing at the spotlessly clean platform. The long vehicle was large enough to make them feel like children in its presence, all gleaming steel polished within an inch of its life. There were no windows, but a sliding door stood invitingly open. The platform was deserted, no guards anywhere, though security cameras watched openly from above. Hazel looked up at the high-arching ceiling, then at the richly decorated walls, and finally at the luxurious interior of the train, and tried hard not to seem impressed.

"Nice," she said, "in an overbearing sort of way."

"That's the aristocracy for you," said Owen. "They don't like to settle for anything less than perfection. Even if the surroundings aren't the first thing on your mind. Normally, if you're using one of these trains, you're too busy worrying about what nasty surprises Lionstone is going to hit you with once you get to Court. Sometimes the Court can be more dangerous than Lionstone is, which takes some doing. God knows what it looks like now, given her present mood. Still, no point in hanging about. Come, my lady Hazel, your carriage awaits."

"I am nobody's Lady," said Hazel, stepping warily through the open door into the train's carriage.

"That's for sure," Owen said gallantly.

Once inside, Giles sat down on the nearest seat and put his feet up. Hazel headed straight for the built-in bar, and Owen paid careful attention to the code panel set beside the door. The correct codes announced who you were, how many were in your party, and your level in Society. Without the right codes, the train wouldn't go anywhere. A really wrong code would activate the security systems, and the gas jets fitted in the carriage, and the only place you'd go after that would be the morgue. Oz claimed to have codes that would not only get them to the next station in perfect safety, but would also override the security systems, so that the gas jets couldn't be activated from the outside. Owen wasn't quite as convinced of that as he had been.

"Trust me," Oz said calmly in Owen's ear. "Your father's research was very thorough. The codes are correct. Just punch in the numbers as I give them to you."

Owen growled something indistinct under his breath, and did as he was told. The last number went in, and Owen braced himself for any hissing from the gas jets. He'd already decided that at the first whiff of anything suspicious, he was grabbing Hazel and leaving this carriage, even if he had to punch a hole through the solid steel wall to do it. But nothing happened, or at least, nothing unpleasant. The door slid shut, the engine fired up in its sealed compartment, and the train moved smoothly off. Owen looked around him, feeling there was something else he ought to be doing, and then shrugged and went to sit down beside Giles, who was leaning back in his luxuriously appointed seat, eyes closed, feet casually crossed before him, the epitome of relaxation. Owen sat on the edge of his seat and bit his lower lip. Trains gave him travel sickness.

Hazel had the bar open and was working her way through the decanters. She took a healthy swig from each till she found something she really liked, then came back to sit down opposite Owen and Giles, clutching the decanter to her. Owen gave her a hard look. Hazel wasn't in the least put out and offered him a sip. Owen politely declined. Giles opened an eye, looked at Hazel and the decanter, sniffed, and closed his eye again. Hazel made a rude gesture at him that Owen was glad Giles didn't see. He could feel his face getting warm. Giles had made it clear to Owen on more than one occasion that he didn't approve of Hazel. Entirely unsuitable as a match for the last of the Deathstalker line. He said it once in front of Hazel, and Owen had to restrain her from punching his ancestor out. Giles had got very sniffy, and said that just proved his point. Hazel had shrugged Owen off, said something very unkind about inbreeding in the aristocracy, and stalked off in a huff. Owen had been torn between a shouting match with his ancestor or hurrying after Hazel to calm her down, but in the end decided discretion was the better part of valor and left them both to their own devices. Some arguments you just knew you were never going to win.

"You know, this has almost been too easy," said Hazel, lowering the decanter and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I mean, considering this is the only means of access to Lionstone's Court, I was expecting the station to be stuffed with security measures. Instead there's no armed guards, you punched in a few numbers, and off we went. That doesn't sound to me like the paranoid Iron Bitch we all know and loathe."

"Lionstone has always believed simple is best," said Owen. "It doesn't take much to make these trains secure. Once they've started, there's no way of getting off, the carriage is sealed, and the gas jets in the ceiling can be activated by the Palace at the first sign of anything worrying. Hopefully the codes Oz and my father supplied are either blocking the carriage's sensors or preventing the Palace from flooding the carriage with gas. A slow and rather horrid death, or so I'm told."

Hazel glared at the nearest gas nozzle. "Hold everything. Are you telling me you don't know exactly what these codes do?"

"I'm afraid so. Oz doesn't have details like that. Apparently my father loaded the codes into the AI's memory some time back, but never got around to explaining their function. Which was typical of my father, who never explained anything unless he absolutely had to. So I'm afraid we'll just have to trust him."

"You want me to trust the word of an AI that's supposed to be dead, and only you can hear, programmed by a man who delighted in intrigue and treachery? All right; stop the train. Let me off. I'll walk the rest of the way."

"The trains are programmed not to stop anywhere except their destination," Owen said calmly. "I could break down the door and throw you out, but then you'd be facing a ten-mile walk. Alone. In the dark. Facing unknown security measures very definitely not covered by my codes."

Hazel scowled at him and took solace in her decanter. "I hate it when you're right. You go all smug and self-satisfied."

Owen hid a smile and looked round at Giles, who still had his eyes shut. "Everything all right, Giles?"

Giles opened his eyes and nodded to Owen, ignoring Hazel. "Couldn't be better, my boy. I've waited a long time for this. Dreamed for so long of finally coming home to put right the ancient wrongs done me. They threw me out, Owen. Outlawed me, after everything I'd done, for them. I gave them my life and all my duty, fought their wars and killed their enemies, stained my honor with the Darkvoid Device, and even that wasn't enough for them. But now, after 943 years, I'm back to present them with the bill for what they did to me."

He stopped talking with an abruptness that suggested he had nothing more to say on the subject, and stared straight ahead, eyes far away in a time of old hurts and betrayals. Owen stirred uncomfortably in his seat. The original Deathstalker had been a hero and a legend for so long it was hard to think of him as a real man, with real hurts and grievances. Owen couldn't help feeling that the great and glorious Deathstalker of old ought to be above such things. There wasn't room in what they had to do for such simple things as revenge anymore. Even he knew that. To be fair, Giles had never tried to hide the fact that he was in this for himself, and not for the underground or any of its causes. The rebellion was just a means to an end for him. On its own this would have been enough to cause Owen concern, but there was also the fact that for a man who'd spent the best part of a thousand years in stasis, Giles often seemed remarkably well informed and up-to-date. Owen sighed mentally. If you couldn't trust Giles Deathstalker, legendary hero and warrior, whom could you trust?

Assuming, of course, that this really was Giles Deathstalker.

The journey passed uneventfully, Hazel kept shooting suspicious glances at the gas jets in the ceiling, and significantly lowered the level of brandy in her decanter. Eventually this made Owen so nervous that he took the decanter away from her and put it back in the bar. It was a measure of their friendship that she let him do it, but she still didn't speak to him for the rest of the trip. The train finally slowed and slid to a halt. The door opened, and the engine shut itself down. It was suddenly very quiet. Owen got to his feet, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest. They'd finally come to Court. No more plans, no more arguments, no more quiet panics in the early hours of the morning when everyone else was fast asleep. And no turning back. Here, in the next few hours, his fate and that of the whole Empire would be decided, one way or another. He drew his sword and gun, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the platform. He only managed a couple of steps, and then stopped dead. He heard Hazel and Giles leave the carriage behind him, but he only had eyes for the man waiting at the other end of the platform to meet them. As soon as Owen saw him, he realized he should have expected him to be there. That it was right that this man, above all others, should be there to try and stop them going any farther. He was standing some distance down the brightly illuminated platform, sword in hand, waiting patiently for them to come to him. His energy half spit and crackled loudly in the quiet.

Half A Man.

Hazel moved up beside Owen and swore quietly. "I knew things had been going too smoothly. Why did it have to be him, of all people? The one man in the Empire who definitely can't be killed?"

"Because my loyalty is beyond question," said Half A Man. "Because the sensors in the carriage told us who was coming, and Lionstone knew someone of more than usual valor would be needed to stop you. And because I wanted to be here. Lionstone was quite annoyed when the gas jets wouldn't function, but I wasn't. That would have been such a… petty way to win. This way is better. It's only fitting that the truest man in the Empire should face such infamous traitors to the Crown. I suppose it's too late even now to talk you out of this madness?"

"Far too late," said Giles.

"And it's not madness," said Owen. "It's necessary. The Empire has become corrupt, sick, evil. It has to be put down, so that something better can take its place."

"I've heard all that before," said Half A Man. His half face was unreadable, but his voice was firm. "It doesn't mean anything compared to the evil waiting outside the Empire. The aliens that destroyed my ship and my crew and did this to me are still out there, somewhere, waiting for us to grow weak and divided so they can move in and destroy us. And the petty evils that so concern you are nothing to what the aliens would do to Humanity. I saw and experienced horrors beyond your worst nightmares in their ship. We're nothing compared to them. Only the combined strength of the Empire has a chance of stopping them. By this rebellion, you put the survival of our very species at risk."

"Stuff that shit," said Hazel. "I've been hearing that all my life, and there's still no sign of your aliens. If they were coming, they'd have been here long ago. These days, it's just an excuse to keep people like you in power. That lets people like you do whatever you want to people like me. Let the aliens come. They couldn't be worse than the life you people wanted to condemn me to. You're the real aliens. You have nothing in common with the people whose lives you control."

"Hazel's right," said Owen. "You've held the threat of the aliens' coming over everyone's heads for so long, you've come to the point where you can use it to justify any damn thing you want. If you really want to ensure the Empire's survival, stand aside. Let us overthrow Lionstone, and put things right in the Empire."

"You wouldn't know what to do with an Empire," said Half A Man. "You people would loot and pillage and destroy the traditions of centuries, just to satisfy your own needs and pleasures. I can understand what drives a mercenary like the d'Ark woman, but what the hell are Deathstalkers doing here? You took an oath, upon your name and your blood and your honor, to be true to the Empress and serve her all your days."

"No," said Giles. "Our oath was to the Throne, not to the madwoman who currently sits on it."

"A distinction without meaning." Half A Man moved unhurriedly toward them, the sound of his one human foot slapping on the platform sounding loud and distinct in the hush. It felt to Owen as though the whole Empire was listening and holding its breath to see what would happen next. "We have nothing to talk about, outlaws," said Half A Man. "We don't even speak the same language anymore."

"I don't think we ever did," said Owen, just a little sadly. "Throw down your sword. You don't stand a chance against the three of us."

"You can't kill me," said Half A Man. "No one can."

"You never met us before," said Giles. "We're different."

"So we've heard," said Half A Man. He stopped a few yards short of them, and his half mouth moved in something that might have been a smile. "Know what this is?"

And he held up in his human hand a small metal box with a red button on it. Owen, Hazel, and Giles just had time to recognize it as a mindbomb, and then Half A Man pressed the button. The tech in the box stimulated the esper brain tissues, and a psionic signal leaped out, falling across the three rebels like a thunderstorm in their heads. Owen and Hazel and Giles rocked on their feet, hands pressed to their heads, trying to force the hideous howl out of their thoughts. Owen staggered back a step, his eyes bulging, his thoughts slow and churning and not entirely his own. Bright lights flared around him, and there were mad voices in his ears. There was something walking up and down in his head and it wasn't he. Pain and weakness chewed through his body, but even through all that was happening to him, Owen could still hear Half A Man talking.

"Interesting. We weren't sure what effect the mind-bomb would have on you, since we were fairly sure that whatever you are, you aren't actually espers, but the odds seemed good that it would mess you up nicely. My own unique nature makes me immune, of course. There's really no point in struggling. This particular mindbomb has been augmented far beyond its usual strength and range, just for you. If you were normal mortals, your brains would be leaking out your ears by now. But don't worry. Just hold still for a moment, and I'll put you out of your misery."

Owen had dropped his gun. His hands felt like they belonged to someone else. He only knew he still had hold of his sword because when he looked down he could see it in his white-knuckled grip. Giles was on his knees beside him, twitching and trembling as his nerves fired at random, his eyes wide and unseeing. Hazel lay on her back on the platform, her mouth stretched in a feral grimace of helpless pain and rage, her empty hands clenching and unclenching. They were fighting the mindbomb's influence and getting nowhere, so Owen decided to stop fighting. He withdrew deep inside himself, and shut down all his Maze-given gifts. They were no use to him now. They had become the means whereby the mindbomb was able to torment him.

It was hard, deliberately blinding and deafening himself as Half A Man advanced on him with deadly intent, but somehow he knew his only real defense lay inside him, not outside. The mindbomb was designed to work on humans, but though he wasn't an esper, he wasn't human anymore either. And if his thoughts were still human, it was only because he chose so. There were other ways of thinking, and even as that idea came to him, he seemed to see another direction he could move in, another form of thought, above and beyond human limitations. So he went that way, in a direction that was more than a direction, and suddenly his mind was clear again. He opened his eyes to find Half A Man looming over him, sword in hand, mindbomb hanging from his belt. And it was the easiest thing in the world for Owen to lash out with his sword and cut through the cord holding the mindbomb to the belt. The small steel box fell clattering to the platform, and Owen crushed it with one blow of his golden fist.

In a moment the mindbomb's influence was gone, and Owen was himself again. Half A Man retreated quickly to a safe distance, surprise and shock clear in his half face. Hazel and Giles came back to themselves and scrambled to their feet, shaking their heads confusedly. And that part of Owen's mind that had come briefly alive when he needed it shut itself down again, now that it was no longer needed. On some deep basic level Owen knew he couldn't continue to think that way and still be himself, so he deliberately turned away from a direction that was already fading from his memory. He was Owen again, and only Owen, and that was enough. He smiled at the warily watching Half A Man, and the humor in that smile was very dark. Half A Man lifted his sword slightly.

"I'm impressed, Deathstalker," he said evenly. "But not really surprised. They told me their new and improved mindbomb would fry your minds, but I was never convinced. Not after all the things you've done. You're becoming a legend, just like me. You won't like it. People will make up stories and songs about you, and worship your image on the viewscreen, but they'll never get near the real truth of who you are. They'll make a giant out of you, and then be ever so upset when you let them down by being only human. Still, not to worry. I'll see your story ends here, then you'll never have to hear the lies they'll tell in your name."

"You died a long time ago," said Owen, moving calmly forward. "Time for you to lie down and admit it."

"I can't die," said Half A Man. "My alien half won't let me. Come to me, Deathstalker, and I'll make it quick."

"Shut up and fight," said Owen.

They came together, and their swords clashed and flew apart in a shower of sparks. Half A Man moved and struck with several lifetimes' speed and experience, never still, endlessly circling around his opponent, pressing Owen's skills to the limit. Owen moved with him, limiting himself to purely defensive moves as he studied his opponent's style, moving round and round in slow, cautious circles, searching out Half A Man's weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It didn't take Owen long to realize that Half A Man didn't have any. The energy half supplied him with endless strength and speed, so he never grew tired, and he knew more about swordsmanship than Owen ever would. Owen boosted, becoming immediately faster and stronger, and launched his own attack. Half A Man sped right up with him, and calmly stood off everything Owen could throw at him. Strength burned in Owen's arms, and he sped up again, pushing his boost to the limits. His sword moved so fast it was only a blur. And for the first time, Half A Man fell back a step.

Owen pressed the attack, cutting at Half A Man's defending sword like a woodsman attacking a stubborn tree. In that moment, Half A Man represented to him everything he hated about the Empire, and he laughed aloud as he threw himself at his enemy. Half A Man had stopped smiling, but held his ground and would not retreat another step. And it occurred to Owen that whereas Half A Man's great strength and speed came from the endless store of his energy half, Owen's boost was of strictly limited duration. Which meant, if he didn't find a way to finish this fight soon, the odds were he wouldn't be finishing it at all. So he put all his strength and speed into one attack, a hammering blow with all his Maze-given talents behind it that slammed right past Half A Man's defense, and crashed down on his human skull.

For a long moment Owen's sword seemed to hesitate, as though frustrated by some unseen energy barrier, and then all the Maze's gifts and strengths concentrated themselves in Owen's blow, a more-than-human impetus that would not be denied, and the sword crashed on. The great and heavy blade cut down through Half A Man's human face, right next to the energy's dividing line, and then carried on down, cutting the human half away from the energy until the crimson blade erupted from the groin in a rush of blood and guts. Owen staggered backwards as his sword came free, all his strength and speed disappearing as he dropped out of boost. Hazel and Giles caught him and kept him from falling. And together they watched as Half A Man's human half fell to lie thrashing and bleeding to death on the platform. The energy half still stood where it was, motionless.

"How the hell did you do that?" said Hazel.

"Damned if I know," said Owen.

They moved forward to stand over the twitching human half, giving the energy half a wide berth. The human half was dying by inches, but it was dying. Guts and organs had fallen out of the huge wound down its side, and blood streamed across the platform, welled over the edge, and dripped onto the tracks below. Owen watched the half man die with divided feelings. Half A Man had been his enemy, opposed to everything Owen now believed in, but it was hard not to see in him a man shaped by implacable outside forces into a legend he had never chosen for himself. Owen could understand that. It was the story of his life, too. He knelt down beside the half body, and took the trembling hand in his. The eye in the half head had sunk right back in the socket, but it rolled slowly over to look up at Owen. Half A Man tried desperately to say something, but couldn't make his mouth work. Owen leaned over him, but his enemy was already dead. Owen gently pulled his hand free from the dead grip and got to his feet.

"What do you suppose he would have said?" murmured Hazel.

"Damn you to hell, probably," said Owen. "He always was single-minded, for a man with only half a brain."

Giles clapped Owen on the shoulder, making him jump.

"Well done, kinsman. You fought a good fight, for an historian."

"I could have used some help," said Owen. "Why didn't you two join in?"

"Oh, I couldn't allow that," said Giles. "It wouldn't have been sporting."

"Stuff sport," said Owen. "This is war."

"And war is the greatest sport of all," said Giles. "You're an historian. You should know that."

"It's only sport to the victors," said Owen. "Not to the victims and the orphaned and all the poor bastards dragged into it against their will."

"Uh, guys," said Hazel. "I think we have a problem…"

They both looked round to follow her pointing hand. The sundered energy half was still standing where they'd left it, but its shape was slowly changing. The coruscating energy pulsed and flowed, pushing at the boundaries of its form. It was becoming something else, something different, no longer bound or dictated by its human half. The slowly changing shape grew more disturbing as it became more distinct, until Owen had to fight not to look away. It was becoming alien, and more than alien. It had width and breadth and depth, and other dimensions, too. Owen couldn't see so much as sense them, and they made his head hurt. Hazel fired her disrupter at it, and the energy beam bounced harmlessly away. The energy shape burned horribly brightly, like a hole cut in reality through which some malign god's light was shining. And then it was gone, and the memory of it faded thankfully from Owen's mind like a nightmare best not remembered. Owen let his breath out in a long shuddering sigh, and only then discovered that Hazel was gripping his arm so hard it hurt. She let go as soon as he saw it and pulled her composure briskly about herself again.

"Well, that was different," she said, just a little breathlessly. "Anyone here have any ideas as to what the hell that was? Or what it was becoming?"

"A problem for the future," said Owen. "As I have a horrible feeling it'll be back someday, along with the aliens that created it. We may only have traded one threat for another."

"Let them come," said Giles. "Let them all come. They'll be no match for the Empire we shall create. Now let's go. We don't want to keep the Empress waiting."

He strode off down the platform, and Owen and Hazel fell in after him. Hazel looked at Owen.

"I hate it when he gets all confident like that. It's just asking for trouble."

"I couldn't agree more," said Owen. "But at least as long as he's in front of us, I don't have to worry about what he might be doing."

"And when the shooting starts, we can hide behind him," said Hazel. "He's wide enough."

"I can hear every word you're saying," said Giles calmly. "And I don't find it in the least amusing."

"Tough," said Hazel. "Serves you right for eavesdropping. And get a move on, or I'll kick your ankles."

"I wonder if it's too late to go back to the rebel leaders, and ask for some new companions," Owen said wistfully.

They came flying out of the scarlet sun on the early-morning skies, a vast armada of fast-flying gravity sleds. There were thousands of them, blackening the sky, one-man sleds with souped-up engines for more speed, armed to the teeth with bolted-down energy guns and heavy projectile weapons, with long ribbons of bullets. They came in low, well below the usual sensor levels, and were over the Parade of the Endless and heading for the pastel Towers of the Families before any of the Clans even knew they were coming. They whipped between the tall buildings of the city, rising and falling on the thermals, flashing by too fast for the automated weapons systems to draw a bead on them. Thousands of sleds shot across the city, manned by rebels, espers, clones, anyone with a raging need for justice in their hearts, and a willingness to fly into Hell itself for a chance at bringing down the Families.

They swept over the struggling crowds in the streets below, ignoring the fighting. That wasn't their mission. An occasional weapon fired up at them from the heaving masses below, but the sleds were small, evasive targets, hard to hit. The Empire's huge gravity barges tried to block their way, hovering in place like floating battle stations, but there were only a few of them, and the sleds just soared over and around them, come and gone in seconds, too unpredictable for the barges' computerized firing systems. No one had ever thought to use one-man sleds like this before. Until Jack Random did. They filled the skies, thundering along, with the sun at their back, heading for the Towers, an army of retribution flying on wings of fury.

Jack Random, Ruby Journey, and Alexander Storm led the way, flying side by side. They'd lowered the sleds' force shields for more speed, and the wind of their passing whipped at their faces, driving tears from their eyes. The early-morning chill cut right through them, despite the heating units in their outfits, but they ignored it, intent on what was to come. Storm felt it the worst in his old bones, but he just clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering, and concentrated on keeping up with the others. He wasn't going to be left behind.

Random looked down at the Parade of the Endless flashing by below him, and found it hard to believe that after all the many years and all the many battles, he'd finally brought his crusade home to Golgotha. To the Families who ran and ruined everything in the name of profit and privilege. They outlawed him and banished him, did their best to break and kill him, but now here he was, back to present them with the bill. And payback was going to be a real bitch.

He laughed aloud, the wind whipping the sound away almost before he heard it. The Empire was going to fall today, and he was going to help bring it down. And when he had it on its knees and begging for mercy, he'd spit in its eye and kick it in the teeth. He worked the sled's throttle mercilessly, trying to force out even more speed, but the sled was already exceeding its safety limits. Random could see the first of the Towers in the distance, and he couldn't wait to get to them. The Clans had to know he was coming by now. They'd have set up their defenses, adjusted their computer aiming systems to compensate for the sleds' speed and maneuverability. They'd be waiting for him. And he didn't give a damn. This was judgment day, and he was bringing down the hammer. It was almost enough to make a man believe in religion. He grinned harshly, the wind forcing his lips back into a wolf's snarl. It was a good day for someone else to die.

He looked across at Ruby Journey. In her black leathers and white furs, standing rock-steady on her bucking sled, face grim and implacable, she looked like some dark Valkyrie out of legend, come to take the dead heroes to Valhalla, whether they wanted to go or not. Her sled was loaded down with weapons of all kinds, right up to the last ounce of weight that wouldn't interfere with her speed. Everything from energy guns to grenades to throwing knives. Ruby liked to be prepared. She looked around, caught his eye on her, and grinned at him. She was on her way to a lifetime best in looting and mayhem, or quite possibly her own death, and she'd never looked happier.

Random smiled back at her, then turned to look at Storm, flying on his other side. The canny old warrior had strapped himself securely onto his sled, but even so he still seemed to shake and shudder with every sudden movement of his craft. His long mane of white hair flew out behind him as he stared unflinchingly into the rushing wind. He was too old for this kind of mission, and everyone knew it, including him, but he'd insisted on coming along, and Random hadn't had the heart to say no. He understood Storm's need to be in at the kill after giving so much of his life to the struggle against the Empire. So he'd put the old man right next to him, where he could keep an eye on him, and just hoped Storm could keep up. Hopefully the old warrior's reflexes would keep him alive long enough to reach the Towers. A lot of people weren't going to make it. There were bound to be heavy losses once the armada hit the Towers' main defenses. Everyone in the armada knew that. But they'd all volunteered anyway. They knew the one-man sleds were the only force fast enough, mobile enough, and versatile enough to get past the defenses and into the Towers. Where the Families thought they were so safe.

Ground forces would have had to struggle for days against the heavily manned and armed Towers, fighting their way up floor by floor to reach the Families barricaded in their heavily defended top floor. Losses on both sides would have been enormous, with no guarantee that the Families wouldn't just abandon their Towers and flee elsewhere before they could be captured. Gravity barges had guns strong enough to blast a way in, but they were too slow, too unwieldy. The Towers' superior firepower would have blown them out of the sky before they could get close enough to do any real damage. Espers were helpless in the face of so many known esp-blockers. Which was why the Clans had retired to the Towers—the one place where they felt really safe—at the first sign of real trouble.

Random was here to teach them different. He'd thought about this plan for years, in the trenches and foxholes of endless battles on endless worlds, dreaming of what he'd do when he finally brought the war home to home-world. He'd thought of every problem, refined every detail, and now here he was, living his dream. Do or die. Death or glory. And he couldn't have been happier either.

Gravity barges lifted off from the Towers' private landing fields and launched themselves into the sky to meet the armada. They were great lumbering ships, with heavy armor and superior firepower, but the sleds were upon them in seconds, and ran rings around them. They snapped back and forth, whipping around the slow-moving barges, too small and too fast for the larger ships' tracking computers. They'd been programmed for vessels their own size, or stationary targets. The sleds shot past them, more and more all the time, so the barges opened fire anyway, disrupter cannon blazing from the huge vessels' sides, aimed at what seemed like the greatest concentrations of sleds.

The sleds scattered immediately, but there were so many of them the barges couldn't miss all the time. With no force shields to protect them, they exploded into flames and fell from the sky like so many burning leaves. Dozens were blown apart in the first few seconds, screams sounding briefly in the wind, and then the survivors of the first rank of sleds threw themselves in close to the barges, so they couldn't keep firing without hitting each other. Ducking and dodging the barges' few smaller weapons, the sleds opened up with their own disrupters. At first they were too few to hurt the barges' force shields, but soon there were hundreds of them, and hundreds more, buzzing around the barges like bees around a bear, hitting the shields again and again until they overloaded and burned out, unable to cope with being hit so often in so many places at once. The sleds fell on the barges, their weapons tearing ragged holes through the heavy armor by sheer persistence. As the sleds' fire continued, inner explosions rocked the barges, and smoke billowed out the holes, thick and black and shot with flames. One by one the great heavy ships lurched or tilted helplessly in the air, drifting in the wind, already beginning their slow but inevitable descent to the ground. The armada of one-man sleds, only slightly depleted, left them behind and headed for the first of the pastel Towers, standing tall and proud against the early-morning sky.

The sleds filled the sky now, thousands of them descending inexorably on the last redoubts of the Clans. The Towers waited till they were safely in range, then opened up with their own disrupter cannon, blowing great holes in the armada. Sleds plummeted from the sky, twisted metal wrecks leaving long shaky trails of smoke and fire behind them. The majority pressed on. There would be time for grieving later. The Towers' guns punched through the massed sleds again and again, filling the sky with blood and screams, explosions and shrapnel, but still the armada pressed on. There was no point in turning back now. The Towers would only shoot them in the back. And this close to their target, there was no longer any point in evasive tactics, so they just opened their throttles all the way and bore in on the Towers like so many guided missiles, driven by rage and determination and a lifetime's grievances. Random was still right there at the front, with Ruby and Storm at his sides. He was howling and roaring now, shouting old battle cries and slogans, and hundreds of responses rose up behind him. For many, Jack Random's name was battle cry enough. The rebels fell howling on the Towers, and the sound of their blood rage filled the morning sky.

The Towers' disrupters fired again and again, blasting sleds out of the sky, their blackened husks falling on all sides. Hundreds of good men and women died, blown apart with their craft, consumed in fire, or thrown from their sleds by the impact of nearby explosions. They screamed in fear and pain and rage as they fell to the earth far below. Random and Ruby and Storm still led the advance, fire and explosions and people dying all around them, whipping their sleds through daring, dangerous maneuvers as the thermals around the Towers rose up to meet them. Behind them, the oncoming sleds darkened the sky, casting a dark, looming shadow over the Towers. For all the hundreds that had fallen, and continued to fall, there were still thousands of them, and they would not be denied. And the leading sleds were close now, so close the Towers' disrupter cannon could no longer train on them. They shot inside the defensive perimeter, heading for the great steelglass windows on the top floors. Random thought he could see faces staring out, eyes wide with fear and shock, and his heart warmed at the sight.

He was still grinning when a disrupter beam from Tower Chojiro hit his sled. He grabbed the controls and hung on grimly as the sled bucked beneath him, and then the whole control panel exploded. Blinded by smoke and flames, Random hung on to the dead throttle as the sled dropped out beneath him. The sled fell like a brick, leaving the smoke behind, and Random could see the armada falling away above him, leaving him behind. Random cursed and struggled with what was left of the controls. He wasn't afraid of dying. He was too angry. He hadn't come this far, been through this much, to fail now.

The sled's engine coughed briefly, and the sled lurched beneath him, almost throwing him off. Random snarled something indistinct, and concentrated on the controls, trying to coax a miracle out of the burning remnants of the crippled sled. And one of the gods he was praying to must have been listening, because the sled's engine fired back into life. It sounded ragged and uncertain, and the sled lurched and tilted this way and that, but gradually its headlong plummet slowed to a halt, and then, as Random whooped and howled and shook his fist in triumph, the sled slowly began to rise again, heading up the side of the Tower Chojiro toward the Family on the top floor.

The sled's engine wanted to cut out at any moment, but Random wouldn't let it, nursing the controls along with scowling concentration. The armada was still flooding by above him, dark shapes racing unstoppably toward the many Towers. The guns still sounded, and great ragged gaps were appearing in the dark tide, but still the sleds pressed on. Some had already made contact, blowing holes in the steelglass windows and crashing into the top floors of the Towers. There were troops waiting for them with sword and gun, but the first wave of rebels fought well, with a fierce desperation, refusing to die until they had established a beachhead for those coming after them. Many of them died anyway, cut down by overwhelming odds, but more rebels were appearing all the time, and slowly, foot by foot, they forced their way into the Towers.

It was a fight the Families had never expected to have to fight. After the Wolfes' sled attack on Tower Campbell, most Families had added extra disrupter cannon on the roofs, and invested in a few gravity barges, but they'd never anticipated such a near-suicidal charge.

More and more gravity sleds made it past the Towers' defenses and crashed their way into the top floors. Random cursed regretfully as his sled slowly rose nearer the top floor of Tower Chojiro. He'd always meant to be one of the first in, fighting to provide a landing ground for those coming behind him. Jack Random had always believed in leading from the front. He couldn't see what had happened to Ruby Journey and Alexander Storm, but he couldn't think about them now. The sled lurched up past the last few floors, and came to a halt facing the top floor of Tower Chojiro. And Random's stomach lurched as he found himself facing a dozen leveled hand disrupters. Someone had smashed a hole through the steel-glass window but obviously hadn't survived it. Random's adrenaline kicked in, and everything seemed to move very slowly. He seemed to have all the time in the world to study the situation and think about what to do. He didn't trust his control over the sled enough to risk dropping below the guns' range, and he was moving too slowly to rise above it. And if he used up his last few moments trying to raise the sled's force shield, only to find it didn't work, the disrupters wouldn't leave enough of him to bury. So Random did the only thing he could, as time crashed up to speed again. He gave the sled all the speed it had, and slammed the craft right into the waiting guards.

Their shots went wild as he was suddenly among them, but some hit anyway. The sled exploded, throwing Random forward over the controls in a cloud of flames. He flew blindly through the air, smarting from the heat of the flames, trying to get his feet under him. The guards scattered as what was left of the sled crash-landed among them and exploded again. Random hit the carpeted floor hard, driving the breath from his lungs. He curled into a ball, hoping the smoke from the explosions would hide him, desperately trying to draw his sword and gun. He could hear shouting and the crackle of flames and general chaos. And then what was left of the fiercely burning sled crashed down on top of him, pinning him to the floor, and there was only blazing heat and the roar of the fire all around him.

The surviving guards called for reinforcements as they fought the fires breaking out all over the top floor. The Clan Chojiro had already retreated to the floor below sometime back. More men arrived, and some fought the fires while others took up positions at the broken windows, keeping up a steady fire on the advancing sleds. Tower Chojiro had more disrupter cannon on the roof than most, and for the moment most of the one-man sleds were concentrating their efforts on the less well defended Towers. A handful of guards cautiously approached the blazing wreckage of the downed sled. There was no way anyone could have survived such a crash and its aftermath, but the guards were taking no chances. They'd been hearing disturbing things about some of the rebels. One of the braver guards leaned over the wreckage and poked it gingerly with the tip of his sword. The heat from the fire kept him from getting any closer, but he thought he could see a single blackened leg protruding from under the rear of the wreckage. He poked that with his sword too, and then leaped back as the leg twitched. He scrambled backwards to rejoin his fellows, and the whole wreckage lurched to one side as something underneath it rose up from certain death, determined to be free. The burning sled overbalanced and fell away, revealing a dark human figure. Its clothes were charred and smoldering, and the bare face and hands were blackened and red raw from burns. But its back was straight and its head erect, and the blistered hands held gun and sword securely. The eyes were pale slits in the dark face, but white teeth flashed suddenly in a disturbing smile.

"I don't die that easily," said Jack Random.

The guards stood where they were for a long moment, paralyzed at the sight of something that should have been dead and still, but instead had risen up to challenge them again. But they were trained Tower guards, conditioned to serve their Family unto death, and the moment passed. They threw the fear off with a cold shrug and started forward, swords raised to carve the burnt specter into a hundred pieces and see if it rose again. Random aimed his disrupter carefully and took out three of the guards with a single shot. They fell silently, and the rest came on. Random put his gun back in its charred holster, took a firm grip on his sword, and wondered how many he might take with him before they finally pulled him down. Even he had his limitations, and he could feel how close they were. Surviving the crash had taken a lot out of him, and he wasn't going to be given enough time to recover. He would have shrugged if it hadn't hurt so much. He'd always known he's die alone, overrun at last by too many enemies. And that was when Ruby Journey's voice suddenly grated in his ears.

"Hit the floor, Random!"

He threw himself down without questioning, and the room was immediately full of the roar of gunfire as Ruby opened up with the heavy projectile weapon mounted on her gravity sled, hovering outside the shattered windows. The guards jerked and convulsed as the bullets tore through them, falling helpless before a weapon they had never been prepared for. The few shots they got off went wild, and soon they were all dead, lying in tangled bloody heaps on the expensive carpeting. The gun finally shut off, and the sudden quiet in the room was almost deafening. Thick trails of smoke curled lazily on the air. Ruby ripped the heavy gun from its moorings, jumped easily through the shattered window, and hurried over to Random, who raised a tired hand in greeting. Ruby stared at the charred and blistered hand, then at his red raw face.

"Jack… you look awful."

"Thanks a whole bunch. I think it probably looks worse than it feels, though it feels pretty bad. But I'm healing. I can feel it. I'm still in the game." He looked down at the projectile weapon she had cradled in her arms. "Guess you were right to bring that thing along after all. Is it as much fun as it looked?"

Ruby chuckled. "Bet your ass. Hold it for a while." She dropped it into his arms, and moved purposefully toward the dead guards. She knelt beside them and began going through their pockets with professional speed and skill. Random frowned.

"Ruby, what are you doing?"

"Just looking for valuables. Credits, jewelry, anything going."

"We don't have time for looting!"

"There's always time for looting. When I joined up with this rebellion, I was promised all the loot I could carry, and this is the first down payment. Though I have to say we're talking lean pickings here. Cheap bunch. Still, by this time tomorrow, I fully intend to have stripped this entire Tower bare. If it's small and valuable and can be carried somewhere on my person, I'm having it."

Random shook his head sadly and moved over to the stairs. No point in trying the elevator; it was bound to be booby-trapped. It was what he would have done. The Family would be on the next floor down, no doubt barricaded in, and surrounded by a small army of protectors. Not that it would do them any good. Random grinned like a wolf, and felt the skin of his face crackle. He reached up automatically and rubbed at his mouth. Black flecks of dead skin fell away. He peered at a small mirror set on the wall by the stairs. Fresh new skin showed where the dead had peeled away. He was healing. He still felt like shit, but he didn't have time to bother with that. He pushed open the stairway door and peered down the brightly lit metal stairs. Quite deserted and utterly quiet.

Random smiled again. He had no doubt Clan Chojiro had all kinds of unpleasant surprises lying in wait for him. But they wouldn't stop him. Nothing was going to stop him now, not all the armed forces in Golgotha or all the loot in the world. He'd chosen Tower Chojiro for his target quite deliberately. He had long acquaintance with the treacheries of the Chojiros, and now he was finally here, he was going to send all their souls shrieking down to Hell, whatever it took and whatever it cost him. He called sharply to Ruby, and she paused just to pull a few more rings from a few more fingers, then hurried over to join him, her pockets bulging with all sorts of expensive items. She took the projectile weapon back from him, cradling it tenderly in her arms. She'd have a few sharp words with him later, for having dared snap at her as much as for interrupting her looting, but for the moment she was content to follow wherever Random led, secure in the thought that the journey would no doubt involve satisfactory amounts of blood, savagery, and general mayhem. She took the lead when Random indicated, and started down the stairs, Random right behind her.

They hadn't got far when a determined band of elite troops came hammering up the metal stairs to meet them. Ruby opened up with her gun at once, the sound horribly loud in the confined space, but the guards had already turned on their personal force shields, those at the rear holding them over their heads. Bullets ricochetted harmlessly from the shields, and Ruby had to stop firing as her own bullets came flying back at her from the walls of the stairwell. She dropped her gun and drew her sword, expecting the guards to lower their force shields and charge with drawn swords. But instead, the shielded guards moved slowly forward, filling the stairs, forcing Ruby and Random to back away before them. There was nowhere else they could go. It was a simple tactic, its only function to keep the rebels from getting to the Clan. With anyone else it might have worked, but Ruby and Random had been touched by the Madness Maze. They reached out to each other mentally, linked their thoughts, and pyrokinetic fire roared away from them, filling the stairwell with a heat so extreme the metal steps and walls began to twist and bubble. The brilliant white flames swept around and over the guards' force shields, blasting them out of the way, and incinerated them all in a few moments. Some had time to scream, and a few turned to run, but the fire was everywhere, and when it finally disappeared, the stairwell was full of charred and blackened bodies and the thick heavy smell of burnt meat. Ruby and Random broke their mental link and looked dispassionately upon what they'd done. There was no room in them for quarter or mercy anymore. Ruby winced back from the heated air, and scowled at the twisted bodies blocking the stairway.

"I suppose we're going to have to shift them out of the way before we can go any farther. Maybe we should have let them run after all."

"No," said Random. "A foe you let run away is a foe who might come back to fight you another day. Let's get to work. All these obstacles are making me impatient."

Ruby pulled on a pair of gloves to protect her hands, and they set about lifting and pushing the charred bodies to one side. Ruby wrinkled her nose at the smell, but Random didn't seem to notice. He'd smelled worse in his time. Thick black specks fell away from his face and hands as he worked, revealing pink new skin underneath. And though he started out looking much like the bodies he was shifting, by the time they'd finished he looked much like his old self again. His clothes were still a mess, but there wasn't a lot he could do about that.

He and Ruby were just manhandling the last of the bodies out of the way when they heard a single set of footsteps coming hurriedly down the stairs from above. Ruby quickly grabbed up her projectile weapon, and Random drew his disrupter. They stood back-to-back, looking up and down the stairs, just in case the footsteps were a feint to draw their attention away from the real attack. The footsteps seemed to take a long time to arrive, and then Alexander Storm rounded the corner of the stairwell, stopped, and blinked mildly at the gun Ruby was training on him.

"If you were a man, I could make a very damaging psychological remark about the need to carry such a large gun," he said calmly. "But as it's you, Ruby, I don't think I'll bother."

Ruby looked back at Random. "Is he saying what I think he's saying?"

"We'll discuss it later," Random said diplomatically. He lowered his gun and grinned up at Storm. "About time you got here, Alex. I was wondering what was keeping you."

"Traffic was murder," said Storm. He sniffed the air and pulled a face. "I see you two have been raising hell again."

"Just doing what we have to," said Random. "Fall in behind us, Alex, but don't start dragging your feet, or we'll leave you behind. We're right on the Chojtros' heels now. I can feel it."

"Yeah," said Ruby. "Time for all fate's revenges to come home."

"You've been reading those Gothic romances again," said Random.

Storm sniffed. "It's a revelation to me that she can read."

"Keep talking, Storm," said Ruby. "There's still room for another spare rib on the barbecue."

"God, I swear it's like being in charge of children," said Random. "Shut it, both of you, and follow me. I don't want to keep the Chojiros waiting."

He set off down the stairs, Ruby right behind him. Storm wrapped himself in his great cloak to protect himself from the worst of the heat only slowly dissipating in the stairwell, and went after them.

They went cautiously but met no resistance. No more troops, no booby traps, no guns hidden in the walls. Just the metal steps, falling away before them. Random grew increasingly wary and gripped his gun and sword so tightly his fingers ached. This wasn't the Clan Chojiro he remembered, with a trap for every choice of action, a trip for every footstep, and layer upon layer of treachery and deceit. Such easy going could only mean the Chojiros wanted him to reach them. Which in turn could only mean they had something really unpleasant and devastating in store for him. Random grinned his wolfish smile. It didn't matter what they had, or thought they had; nothing was going to stop him now.

They reached the foot of the stairs and carefully approached the blank metal door that led off to the next floor. Everything was still and quiet. Ruby peered over the railings and down the stairwell, in case there were troops waiting below, but the stairwell was empty for as far as she could see. Random studied the door and the walls around it carefully, but couldn't detect any booby traps. He was pretty sure he would have been able to sense anything wrong or out of place, but he still felt a small but definite sense of relief when he turned the door handle and eased the door open, and nothing nasty happened. He gestured for Ruby to join him, and she moved in beside him without making a sound, her gun at the ready. Random counted to three silently, then they both hit the door together and stormed into the next floor. Storm right behind them. A quick glance around assured Random there were no troops waiting, and no obvious traps; just a man and a woman standing together, waiting to greet their visitors with ostentatiously empty hands.

BB Chojiro and Gregor Shreck.

BB was a petite doll of a woman, with long dark hair and sharp oriental features. She wore a kimono of bright scarlet, wrapped tightly in all the right places. It was easy to see why Julian Skye had once fallen in love with her. The Shreck, on the other hand, was a short fat butterball of a man, with a bulging fleshy face and deep-set eyes. A tricky, dangerous, vindictive man, by all accounts.

Random moved slowly forward, stopping carefully out of reach of the Chojiro or the Shreck. Ruby and Storm moved in on either side of him, guns trained. BB Chojiro bowed deeply to them. Gregor managed a stiff nod.

"Who the hell are these people?" said Ruby, not bothering to lower her voice.

"I do wish you'd keep up on the briefings," said Random, not taking his eyes off the two before him. "The woman speaks for the Chojiros in negotiations, and the like. She's also Blue Block, though we're not supposed to know that."

"Perhaps she wants to negotiate the Clan's surrender," said Storm.

Ruby frowned. "Would you accept it. Jack?"

"Not a chance in hell," said Jack Random, his voice flat and cold as death. "They've got nothing I want more than their destruction. You ought to recognize Gregor Shreck at least, Ruby. Chief slimeball in a totally disreputable Clan. Rebel when it suits him, but always a member of the Families."

"Toby's uncle?"

"That's the one."

"Oh yeah, I've heard of him. I'll toss you for who gets first hack at him."

"Oh no you won't," said Random. "I've seen that double-headed coin of yours."

"If we do end up negotiating something, please leave the talking to me," said Storm. "You two could talk your way out of a lottery win. I have experience in this sort of thing."

"There isn't going to be any negotiating," said Random. "I've waited a long time to bring down Clan Chojiro. The Shreck is just a bonus."

"Let them speak," said Storm. "What harm can it do?"

"If nothing else," said Ruby, "they might tell us where the rest of the Chojiros are hiding out. Or where they've hidden the valuables."

Random nodded curtly. BB Chojiro smiled charmingly at her three visitors. It had no obvious effect, but she kept smiling anyway.

"Welcome, honored guests. Please excuse the earlier armed responses; at that time the Families had yet to reach agreement on the best course of action to take, and they felt the need to defend themselves while the talks continued. I am happy to be able to inform you that all discussions have now ended, and I am empowered to speak for all the Clans. The Shreck is here to confirm my words. Basically, we wish to surrender."

Random's jaw dropped just a little. Of all the situations he'd expected to face this day, that wasn't one of them. "What? All the Families?"

"I speak for every Clan in the Empire," said BB. "We see no point in continuing in an armed struggle."

"Don't let her throw you," said Ruby. "Remember why you came here. She's just trying to distract you."

"If she is, it's working," said Storm. "There's got to be a catch."

"Our surrender is of course dependent on our agreeing to certain conditions," said BB.

"That sounds more like it," said Storm.

"The Families are prepared to give up their Lordships and associated privileges," said BB calmly, "in return for their survival. Essentially, the aristocracy will disappear, to be replaced by family-owned business operations. The Clans will continue to run their particular financial concerns, but will take no further part in the governing of the Empire. It's really quite a simple deal. You call off your dogs, guarantee our safety, and we give up politics. We're not so blind that we can't see the old order is finished and a new way is beginning. And isn't that what you really wanted, Jack? An end to established, inherited wielding of power in the Empire?"

"How can we be sure you speak for all the Families?" said Random. "You've never agreed over anything before."

"Because I'm Blue Block," said BB, still smiling. "No one Family is greater than Blue Block."

"Jesus," said Ruby. "I always thought they were just a myth. Young Family members conditioned to be utterly loyal to death and beyond, right? Infiltrated everywhere, hidden in deep cover, the Families' last weapon against Lionstone. You're that Blue Block?"

"Oh yes," said BB Chojiro. "Only down the many years we slowly evolved into something more than was originally intended. Our loyalty now is to the protection and survival of all the Families, not just the Clans that birthed us. This came as something of a surprise to the heads of the various Clans, but they were quick to grasp the possibilities. Particularly when we proposed this plan to ensure the Families' survival. There were those who took some convincing. Who were so sure they were impregnable in their ancient Towers. Your unexpected form of attack changed all that, Jack. As soon as your people started crashing through their defenses and smashing their way into the top floors of their precious Towers, it was amazing how fast the recalcitrant Families changed their tune, and told us to go ahead and make the deal. Isn't that right, Gregor?"

"Get on with it," growled the Shreck. "Just because a thing's necessary, it doesn't mean I like having to bow down to rebel scum. You haven't won, Random, and we haven't lost. It's a stalemate. You could stick to your original plan and try to take us down, but I swear we'd fight to the last survivor of each Clan, and see most of your people dead in the process. You could still win; but you'd lose thousands of your people doing it. Well, Random? Is your need for revenge worth the deaths of so many of your followers? When you can save them and win the day, with just a word?"

"I don't know," said Random. "It might be. As long as people like you live and go unpunished, the rebellion will have been for nothing. All those who died to help us get this far will have died for nothing The system has to fall, and you're part of the system."

"If we go down, it won't be just the system that falls," said Gregor, grinning nastily. "You've had the carrot; now here's the stick. You reject the deal, and we'll use our financial power to destroy the Empire's economic base. We can do it. We can use our computers to crash the banking system so thoroughly it would take centuries to recover. It's already precarious after what your friend Deathstalker did to the Tax computers. We could push it over the edge with just a nudge here and there. Money would become worthless. Credit would disappear. Trade would become impossible. Planets would be cut off from each other. Millions would starve, and millions more would fight over the crumbs that remained. What of your glorious rebellion then, Random? Destroy us, and we'll destroy the people you've been fighting to save."

"Could they do that?" said Ruby to Random. "Could they really do that?"

"Oh yeah," said Random. "That's just the kind of thing the Families would do."

"The order of things changes, but we go on," said BB. "We have so much to offer a new regime."

"The rebellion isn't actually over yet," said Storm thoughtfully. "The Empress could still make a comeback."

"The Empress is mad," said Gregor. "We can read the writing on the wall, especially when it's written in blood. Now are we going to agree to the deal or not? As long as we're standing here talking, people on both sides are dying needlessly. Not that I give a damn, but you're supposed to care about such things. Decide, Random. We know the underground will abide by your decision."

"Don't listen to him. Jack," said Ruby urgently. "We haven't come this far to give up now. We can tear the Families down, just like you always wanted!"

"You heard the price," said Random. "I always fought for the good of the people, not my own needs and wishes. What good is there in burning down an Empire, if all we have left to live in is ashes? The needs of the people come first. That's why I became a rebel in the first place. If I put their future at risk for the sake of my own revenge, then everything I've ever fought for becomes a lie. Who knows; with the Families removed from political power, maybe we can… civilize them."

"And what about the Chojiros?" said Ruby hotly. "All the vows you made to kill them all and piss on their graves? Do they mean nothing anymore?"

"I have more reason to hate the Chojiros than you'll ever know," Random said coldly. "I want them dead so badly I'd give up my life to destroy them all, root and branch. But I won't, I can't, give up innocent lives to my old hurts. And after all—maybe there'll still be room for a little private revenge, after the rebellion is over."

"Yes," said BB, still smiling. "Clan Chojiro has always appreciated the honorable art of vendetta."

"So we have a deal?" said Gregor.

"Yes, damn you," said Jack Random. "We have a deal. Stand down your people, and I'll halt the attack. Stay in your Towers till the rebellion's over, and we'll hammer out the details afterward. And no, I'm not going to shake your hands. I have to keep some self-respect."

"I don't believe this!" said Ruby, stepping back a pace so that her projectile weapon covered them all. "And I haven't agreed to anything! You're selling out the rebellion, Jack, selling out every promise you ever made. All the things you said to me, all the things you wanted me to believe, and now the day of judgment's come, and you're making deals!"

"It's called politics, love," said Random. "Sometimes the price of ideals can be too high. And if I can live with this, you can."

"You were born an aristo," said Ruby. "And you're still one at heart after all. Make your deal, Jack. But I'll never believe anything you tell me, ever again."

And in the end, it was as simple as that. The word went out, the armada broke off its assault on the Towers, and both sides stood down. Many of the rebels still cried out for revenge, for those who had fallen this day as well as for all the many the Families had trampled underfoot down the centuries, but in the end the carrot and the stick convinced them. And as Random said, no one had ruled out the possibilities of some private revenges, afterward.

Some unexpected good came from the deal. Valentine Wolfe didn't trust it to guarantee his safety, after all he'd done, and so he fled Tower Wolfe to take sanctuary in Lionstone's Court. By leaving his Tower he broke the deal, and made himself a legitimate target for anyone who wanted to go after him. Ordinary people began to stream back into the city, sensing that the worst of the fighting was over. They cheered the rebels and called for the downfall of the Empress. They tore down her statues and spit on them, torched public buildings, and generally ran riot in the streets, drunk on the promise of freedom. The underground had to direct people away from the fighting to control the growing jubilation and prevent widespread looting, which put something of a dent in their general popularity. The underground had no choice but to ignore that. They had more important things to think about. They knew the war wasn't over while Lionstone was still safe and secure in her steel bunker, deep below the surface, far away from the fighting.

Back in Tower Chojiro, Gregor Shreck and BB Chojiro had left to carry the good word back to their respective people, leaving Jack Random, Ruby Journey, and Alexander Storm alone. Random had already contacted the underground and apprised them of the deal, and was now thinking hard, trying to work out all the angles, desperate to be sure he hadn't, after all, made a terrible mistake. Ruby was stomping up and down, fuming quietly, kicking the furniture and helping herself to any bright and shiny thing that took her fancy. Storm watched them both and for a time said nothing. Random finally looked around and caught the expression on Storm's face.

"What is it, Alex? The rebellion's all over now, bar the shouting."

"No," said Storm. "It isn't over as long as the Empress still sits on the Iron Throne. She has access to all kinds of support. Weapons, people, secrets that the underground knows nothing about. She could still turn it all around, and the people in the streets would cheer her victory just as loudly as they're now calling for her head. Lionstone always knew a day like this might come. Do you think the Families are the only ones who could made doomsday threats?"

"If she had any last nasty surprises, she'd have used them by now," said Ruby.

"Is that what's upsetting you?" said Random. "Forget it. Ruby's right. Come on, cheer up. I haven't seen you smile once since we got here."

"They came to you to make the deal," said Storm. "Not to me. Even though I represent the underground. They trusted your word, not mine. A small thing, perhaps, but the last of many." He looked at Random almost helplessly. "But it's still going to be harder than I thought."

"What is?" said Random. "Look, if you've got something to say, spit it out. I haven't got time to worry over your hurt feelings."

"Time," said Storm. "This has all been about time, really. Time steals our life away, day by day, and we don't notice how much we've lost till it's too late. We fought for years, you and I, and all for nothing. Gave up our youth, and all our chances for love and marriage and children and happiness, all for a dream that never came true. When we started, you promised me power and success, victory over our foes and justice for all, and I never saw any of it. Just hard fighting and harder living, cold food and bad liquor, and one lost battle after another. Running from world to world with nothing to show for it but more dead friends and a few new scars to nurse. And that was my life with Jack Random."

"But that was then," said Random. "We've moved on. Things have changed. We've changed…"

"Yes," said Storm. "We got old. But you got young again. That was the last straw, really. I could have stood it if Time had cheated us both equally, but you got a new life again, and I didn't. You were right, Jack; there's always time for a little personal revenge. Thanks for helping me think this through. You've made this so much easier. Jack, Code Zero Zero Red Two."

Jack Random convulsed, his back arching as though he'd been hit from behind. He sank to his knees, trying to force words out of a contorted mouth. Ruby was quickly at his side, kneeling down and holding his shaking hands in hers. "What is it, Jack? What?"

"He can't hear you," said Storm, almost regretfully. "You see, when the med techs had him in their nasty little hands, not all that long ago, they took the precaution of implanting certain control words in his head, just in case he ever got away from them. And they gave those words to me, when I agreed to become an Imperial spy, their agent in the heart of the underground. They always thought there was a chance we might meet again, eventually. And how right they were. Ever since then, it's just been a question of waiting for the right moment. I kept putting it off and putting it off, hoping for a return of the old camaraderie we used to share. Hoping for a chance to be a hero again. But he wouldn't even allow me that. So in the end, I am the Empress's man. And now, so is he."

"But you were a hero!" said Ruby. "Everybody said so!"

"And now I'm a traitor. Only if the Empress wins, then I'll be the hero, and he'll be the traitor. It's all a matter of how you look at things. And who are you to judge me? You always said you were only in this for the loot. Well, now so am I."

"You bastard!" said Ruby. Letting Random go and scrambling to her feet, she reached for her sword.

"I never liked you," said Storm. "Jack, shut this bitch up."

Random rose to his feet. Ruby turned on him, sword in hand, her face desperate. Random slapped her sword aside and hit her once on the jaw, snapping back her head. She fell to the floor, and lay still. Storm moved over and kicked her in the ribs. Her head lolled helplessly. Storm nodded, satisfied. "Very good, Jack. Now pick her up and follow me. Lionstone is waiting for us to join her."

And so they left the Tower and made their way through the confusion of the streets, then down beneath the surface, descending to the Imperial Palace by secret, hidden ways. And so they went down into darkness, heading for Hell.

Elsewhere in the chaotic streets of the Parade of the Endless, Finlay Campbell and Evangeline Shreck and Julian Skye followed Young Jack Random as he led a small army of rebels and underground supporters toward the Imperial ground troops' main command center in the city. The center was supposed to contain the main decision makers and strategists of the planetside military. And despite everything the underground had done to try to cut them off from their forces, they were still very much in charge. So all that was left was to shut them down the hard way, by brute force. Unfortunately, since the command center was set inside a massive steel-and-stone bunker and guarded with practically every weapon known to man, it promised to be a very hard job. Which was why the underground leaders had volunteered Young Jack Random and the others to go and do the job. That was what happened when you got a reputation for achieving the impossible.

So Finlay slogged his way through the streets, shooting at everything wearing a uniform, and wondering what the hell he was going to do if and when he finally reached the bunker. He had no doubt he'd think of something annoying to do to it, probably involving high explosives. He was on a roll, after all. He could feel it. But somehow he had a strong feeling that breaking into the bunker was going to be a real bastard. He didn't even have any of the incredible Maze people with him this time. Just one possibly rejuvenated esper, Julian Skye. Still, they were being led by the legendary Young Jack Random, hero and savior, who apparently could do no wrong. According to all reports he'd practically turned back the Imperial invasion on Mistworld single-handed. Maybe he'd think of something.

Finlay wasn't sure how he felt about Young Jack. The man was brave and daring and a great fighter, to be sure, and heroic as all hell, and he always seemed to know just the right thing to say to motivate his followers, but… Perhaps it was just that the man was too perfect. Even the greatest of heroes was supposed to have some flaws. Young Jack didn't even belch after a good dinner. Finlay smiled despite himself. It had been a long time since he'd felt jealous of anyone. As the Masked Gladiator, he'd been unbeatable in the Arena, and adored by all. And now here he was, following Young Jack Random like all the others, forgotten and ignored in the great hero's shadow. Finlay shrugged. He could live with that, for now. There was work to be done.

Evangeline was also lost in her own thoughts. She was back on Golgotha again, back in the Parade of the Endless, not far from her father. Her hated, despised father, who loved her as a woman, not a daughter. Evangeline had fled to Shannon's World, but now she was back. And it wouldn't be long before Gregor Shreck found out, and then the threats of torture or death to her friend Penny would begin again. Evangeline scowled, barely seeing the crowd around her. Maybe she could get the underground leaders to promise Gregor's safety, in return for Penny's release, unharmed. They owed her a favor, after all she'd done for them. If Penny was still alive… she wouldn't put it past her father to have killed Penny in her absence, out of spite. He was quite capable of such a thing. In which case she would find him and kill him, and to hell with the consequences. Finlay would understand. He knew all about revenge.

Julian Skye was thinking about revenge, too. About Blue Block in general, and BB Chojiro in particular. He had loved her with all his heart, and she betrayed him to the torturers and the mind techs. And sometimes it seemed all he lived for now was a chance to make her pay. Now, at last, they were in the same city again. When the rebellion was over, he'd find her, no matter where she hid, and then he'd make her suffer as he had. (Or maybe he'd fall on his knees and promise her anything, if only she'd love him again. He still dreamed that, sometimes. In his worst nightmares.) Julian Sky gripped his sword tightly, and the smile that stretched his mouth had little of humor in it. First the rebellion, and the cause he'd given his life to. There'd be time for personal revenge afterward.

All three had volunteered to be part of the gravity-sled armada, for their various reasons, but the underground leaders had been unwaveringly firm that they were needed here more. So they fought their way through the packed streets, following Young Jack Random, and did their best to keep their inner turmoil at arm's length until they had time to pay attention to it.

And so they fought their way through the madness in the streets, taking on troops, Security men, and anything else the Empire could throw at them. At every turn there were more armed men, as the increasingly desperate Imperials struggled to stop the rebel forces advancing on the command center. Energy guns flared, explosives tore holes in the packed forces on both sides, and swords and axes swung in bloody arcs. Dead and wounded alike fell to be trampled underfoot. No one had the time to see to them. There was only the endless, almost hysterical push forward by the rebels, and the slow, panicking retreat of the Imperials. Steel blades swung in short, brutal arcs, punching into yielding flesh and out again, and blood ran like rivers in the street, choking the overflowing gutters. Men fell and the push went on, and the command center drew slowly nearer.

And right there, at the front of it all, Young Jack Random stood tall and proud, swinging his great sword with both hands, and no man could stand against him. Their swords could not touch him or defend them from his wrath, and the men behind him roared his name as a battle cry. Finlay and Evangeline stuck close behind him, and were too busy to be jealous. Finlay was fighting at the peak of his powers, a dazzling display of swordsmanship that would have drawn cheers from his old Arena fans. Men actually tried to turn and run rather than face him. Finlay smiled his wolfish smile and killed them all anyway. He was doing what he was born to do and savoring every minute.

Evangeline guarded his back and his blind spots with dogged efficiency. Finlay had taught her how to use a sword, though she never felt any of his dark joy for slaughter. She fought as a means to an end and nothing more, and only sometimes suspected that for Finlay the means was the end. Julian Skye's esper powers crackled on the air around them, deflecting disrupter beams and the occasional grenade. Now and again he'd gather his strength and let rip with a psistorm that sent armed troops flying helplessly in the grip of sudden storm winds, but mostly the fighters of both sides were packed too closely together for him to achieve much. He carried a sword and a gun, and used them with brisk efficiency. The fighting went on, time lengthening beyond counting, till both sides were ready to drop from exhaustion. And still Young Jack called his people on, to death or glory, and the destruction of Empire.

The rebels pressed forward, inch by inch, paying for every step with blood and death, until finally the command center's steel-and-stone bunker appeared at the end of the street before them. The sight gave new heart to the rebels, and they roared their triumph as they surged forward behind Young Jack, driving the demoralized defenders back and back. Only the narrowness of the street and the fact that there was nowhere for the troops to run prevented a complete rout. And so the troops fought viciously, like the cornered rats they were, and through sheer desperation again slowed the rebel advance to a crawl.

The struggle went on, tides in the fighting moving this way and that, and Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn were there to cover it all, broadcasting live to the watching Empire. They hovered precariously above the crowd on a commandeered gravity sled, just high enough to keep out of range of the fighting while still close enough to get all the gory details in close-up. Flynn sent his camera swooping back and forth over the surging crowd, searching out the best footage, while Toby hung over the edge of the sled, narrating a breathless commentary with a voice grown rough through smoke inhalation and overuse. Both men were using every upper in Toby's collection to keep them sharp and alert after so long on the air, and they had long since abandoned impartiality and distance for an almost hysterical need to capture history in the making. They both knew they'd never cover so important a story again. They spied the familiar faces of Finlay, Evangeline, and Julian, waved cheerfully, and called for them to smile for the camera. Finlay gave a short but very emphatic answer indicating that he was rather busy just at the moment, and Toby made a mental note to edit that bit out of any future repeat broadcasts. Flynn kept his camera rocketing back and forth, getting as much coverage of the bloodletting as he could. The viewers knew what they liked, and had to be coaxed to keep watching, even if this was history in the making.

Young Jack hacked and cut his way through an army of defenders, blood spilling onto the ground and streaming around his feet. His muscular arm rose and fell tirelessly, and none of the enemy could even touch him. His broad grin never wavered, and his calm eyes never blinked, no matter how close a sword blow came. He went for body shots, mostly. Short, vicious arcs that slammed his long sword into stomach and rib cage, and out again in a flurry of blood and guts. Traumatic wounds that stopped enemies immediately, but still left them staggering around to get in the way of their fellows. Their cries of pain and horror had great psychological effect on the enemy troops, while heartening the rebel side. And perhaps only Finlay and Evangeline and Julian found time to consider that such unpleasant methods weren't really what might be expected from a renowned hero like Jack Random. Young Jack fought on, calling his followers on to victory. His enemies fell before him, and he trampled them underfoot, still smiling. His clothes were soaked with blood, none of it his. Near the end of the street, with the command center only yards away, he paused just long enough to throw a smile and a wink at Flynn's hovering camera.

"You know; there has to be an easier way to overthrow an Empire…"

And then he got back to work, and the killing continued. Up on the sled, Toby gave Flynn a high five. A hero, a bladesman, and charming with it. Young Jack was a godsend. The audience would eat this up with spoons. The networks would be repeating that particular moment on news anthologies for years to come, no matter who won the rebellion. Toby had to admit he much preferred the Young Jack Random to the older counterpart he'd met on Technos III. Young Jack understood the importance of a good sound bite. Toby was glad someone here did. Most of the rebels were too busy to talk to him, and those who would were usually too earthy in their comments. You could only bleep so much.

Toby steered the sled as close to Young Jack as he could. When in doubt, follow the story. And so he and Flynn were perfectly placed to see the grenade come arcing out of the defenders and tumble almost unhurriedly through the air toward Young Jack. It passed right in front of Flynn's camera, hung on the air for a long moment at the top of its loop, and then dropped directly toward Young Jack. Many of the rebels saw it coming, and screamed warnings, but in the tightly packed crowd of fighters, there was nowhere for Young Jack to go. The grenade exploded right in front of him, and his body took the full force of the explosion. The blast threw him to one side, crashing through friend and foe alike, and slammed him into the high stone wall that overlooked that side of the street. The wall swayed and then fell forward, collapsing on top of the people below. Dozens of other people, rebels and troops, had been hit by shrapnel from the grenade and they lay screaming in the street.

Finlay and Evangeline and Julian had been protected behind Julian's hastily thrown-up force shield. As it dropped, Finlay quickly yelled for rebels to come forward and hold back the troops while he dug through the rubble of the fallen wall. Men and women rushed forward into the gap, yelling for Finlay to save Young Jack. Finlay was pretty sure the man had to be dead, but if there was even a chance… He bent over the rubble and started pulling away bricks, and soon Evangeline and Julian were there to help him. More people pushed forward, wanting to help but only getting in the way. Julian put up a force shield to hold them back, until they got the message. Finlay and Evangeline kept digging. It didn't take them long to find the first body parts. People had been torn literally limb from limb by the force of the explosion. They kept digging, forcing their way down through the bloody remains. Flynn's camera hovered overhead, getting it all. Some of the body parts were still twitching. Finlay and Evangeline dug down through the pitiful scraps and remnants, arms bloody to the elbow, and finally they came to what was left of Young Jack Random. For a second they just stood there, stunned, and then Finlay turned and glared back at Toby and Flynn.

"Cut off the live feed! Do it now!"

Toby leaned off the edge of the sled to argue, looked past Finlay and saw what he saw, and made a sharp chopping gesture to Flynn. The cameraman nodded, and cut off the live broadcast, but kept the camera in place, still recording. Toby moved the gravity sled in over Finlay and Evangeline as they bent over the revealed body of the thing called Young Jack Random. The force of the grenade's explosion had torn away much of his skin, revealing the gleaming blue steel beneath. His face was gone, leaving only a metal skull. The eye sockets were empty, but the white teeth remained, giving the metal skull a disturbingly human smile. Young Jack Random was a Fury, a spy from Shub, a machine in the shape of a man, hiding under a human appearance. And it was still alive. The lower part of the body was seriously crushed by the fallen wall, and one arm was missing, but the torso and head were pretty much intact. The Fury raised its metal head slightly and nodded to Finlay and Evangeline. When it spoke, the slightly echoing voice was calm, almost friendly.

"All right, I'm a machine. But that doesn't mean we can't still be friends. You need me. Or who I'm pretending to be. I can be repaired. Cover my face, and no one will know the difference. Some of the truth is bound to leak out, but we can just tell everyone that I'm a cyborg. An augmented man. They'll buy that, after all Jack Random's supposed to have been through. You need me, Campbell. The rebels will follow a hero like me where they won't follow someone like you. So get a cloak to wrap me in, stick me on the Shreck's gravity sled, and I'll lead your people right into the command center."

"Do you really think that any member of Humanity would follow a thing from Shub?" said Finlay, his voice cold and tight. "Do you think we would? You represent the Enemies of Humanity. Sworn to wipe us out to the last man, woman, and child. No wonder you enjoyed the slaughter here so much. And what would you do, after the rebellion is over? Be a party to our plans and hopes, just when we're at our most vulnerable? Do you really think we'd let a metal wolf like you into our fold?"

"You don't really have much of a choice," said the machine calmly. "My systems are already repairing themselves, and you don't have any weapons here strong enough to destroy me. The grenade took me by surprise. It was unexpectedly powerful for its size. But soon I will be operating at acceptable efficiency levels again, and if you will not help me to pass as Jack Random, then I will fulfill my secondary programming, and kill every human here. What will that do to your push on the command center? Like it or not, you're stuck with me."

"Like hell," said Finlay. "Julian, stamp this tin soldier flat."

"Gladly," said Julian, he called up his psistorm, compressed and focused it into a hammer of pure force, and brought it slamming down on the crippled Fury. The human-shaped machine flattened out like a starship had fallen on it, the metal cracking and shattering in a thousand places. Julian smiled coldly as the metal shape crumpled under the pressure of his mind. The esper concentrated, and the flattened metal rolled itself into a ball, shrinking and further compacting until all that remained was a solid sphere of metal, with no trace of life left in it. Julian smiled again.

"Repair that, you bastard."

Finlay and Evangeline buried the sphere under a pile of body parts. Julian looked up at Flynn's camera, still hovering overhead, and scowled thoughtfully.

"Oh no, not the camera, please!" said Toby. "We don't have another!"

"We can't let this piece of news get out," said Julian. "No one must ever know."

"We know how to keep our mouths shut," said Toby. "This wouldn't be the first piece of film I've had to bury. Ask the Campbell; he'll vouch for me."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," said Finlay. "But I think we can trust him to understand that if this piece of film ever surfaces again, there will be a queue of people waiting to kill him in slow and interesting ways. Right, Shreck?"

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Toby. "I've seen you people in action. I don't want you coming after me. It doesn't really matter. I've already got enough great footage to make me immortal."

"What about me?" said Flynn. "Don't I get to be immortal, too?"

"I said immortal, not immoral. You just point the camera and leave the thinking to me."

Flynn glared at him coldly. "I am an artist. It's in my contract."

"I know what you are," said Toby. "Now shut up and point the camera."

"Bully," said Flynn. "You wait till your next direct to camera. I'll make you look really podgy."

"You'd swear they were married, wouldn't you?" said Julian. "Finlay, we have to get our people moving again, before they have time to think about what's happened here. If they panic, the whole push will fall apart."

"Got it," said Finlay. He stepped up onto the rubble so all the rebels could see him. "Jack Random is dead! The Empire killed him. Are you going to let his death be for nothing? Or will you fight on, as he would have wanted? Then follow me, to death or glory!"

It was as basic as that, but it worked. The rebels roared their defiance to the Empire and surged forward again, howling for revenge. Finlay led the way, with Evangeline and Julian at his sides. He'd never doubted that the rebels would follow him, in Random's name. Sometimes a rebel leader can be a greater inspiration dead than alive. The defending troops had held their ground while they thought Random's death would demoralize the rebels, but the new, even more determined attack was just too much for them. Outnumbered and outfought, they cracked and turned and ran, some throwing away their weapons to show they were no longer a part of the war, and as quickly as that the battle was over. The troops ran in all directions, desperate to escape the killing grounds, and the rebels cut down those who didn't run fast enough.

Finlay stormed forward, heading for the huge steel doors that were the only entrance to the command-center bunker. Disrupters built into the bunker walls opened up, but Julian deflected the beams with his esp until rebel sharpshooters had blown the guns out of their emplacements. And then they were all at the door, and Evangeline punched in the entry codes that the underground leaders had provided. Nothing happened. Evangeline tried again, hitting each number carefully, but the door remained stubbornly closed. Finlay could hear the crowd growing restive behind them.

"Typical," he said briskly. "Have to do everything ourselves. Julian, get this door open."

"I'm on it," said Julian. He concentrated, ignoring the familiar headache growing behind his temples, and hit the door with a psychokinetic hammer blow that punched the door right out of its supports and back into the bunker. The rebels cheered, and Finlay led the way through the opening. He hadn't got far before he came to a sudden halt. Evangeline and Julian, close behind, almost crashed into him. Before them, guarding the entry corridor with a drawn sword, stood a single figure in an anonymous tunic, with a featureless black-steel helm covering his head. A familiar sight to anyone who'd ever watched the fights in the Arenas. It was the undefeated champion himself, the Masked Gladiator.

"No," said Finlay. "No. Not you…"

"Of course it's me," said the calm voice behind the helm. "I've always been loyal to the Iron Throne, come what may. Which means you have to get past me to get any farther. And one man in the right place can stop an army if he's good enough. And the Masked Gladiator has never been defeated."

"Don't do this," said Finlay. "I don't want to have to fight you."

"They shall not pass," said the Masked Gladiator. "No exceptions. Not even you, Finlay."

"The hell you say," said Julian. He stepped forward, and his face contorted with an anger so overwhelming he was almost unrecognizable. "I've waited a long time for this, you bastard. You killed my brother, Auric Skye!"

"I've killed a lot of people," said the voice behind the featureless helm. "I don't remember names anymore."

"I remember," said Julian Skye, and he lashed out with his mind. An irresistible force hit the Masked Gladiator like a hammer, smashing him off his feet. He hung in midair, feet kicking helplessly above the ground, and blood flew from every joint in his armor, as the body within was crushed by a cold, vengeful force. He didn't cry out, but eventually he stopped convulsing, and Julian dropped him. He hit the floor hard and lay still. Blood pooled around him. Julian leaned over him, breathing heavily. Blood was running thickly from one of his nostrils. He spit on the featureless helmet.

"That was for you, Auric."

He started forward into the command center, and the rebels poured after him, cheering the man who'd beaten the undefeated Masked Gladiator. Toby and Flynn hurried after them on foot. None of them even noticed Finlay and Evangeline kneel beside the fallen man. Finlay waited till the last of the rebels had passed by, and then gently removed the dying man's helmet, revealing the blood-smeared face of Georg McCrackin, the original Masked Gladiator. The man who'd taught Finlay everything he knew, and then allowed him to replace him in the Arena. Georg tried to smile up at Finlay and Evangeline, but his teeth were red with his own blood.

"Now we'll never know… whether you could have beaten me, Finlay. Should never have expected a fair chance from an esper."

"I killed his brother," said Finlay. "I'm so sorry, Georg. I never meant… Why did you go back to the Arena? I thought you retired."

"Someone had to be the Masked Gladiator after you left, and there wasn't anyone ready to take your place."

Georg swallowed hard, and his voice cleared a little. "Besides, I wanted to see if I still had what it took. To be the best again. I was doing well, too, until this nonsense started, and the Empress herself called me here, to defend the command center." He coughed harshly, and blood welled from his mouth and ran down his chin. "Damn. I'm hurt bad, Finlay. That esper bastard really screwed me up." He tried to smile at Finlay again, and blood leaked out the corners of his mouth. "So you're a rebel now, Finlay. I was surprised when I heard. I never understood politics. Not for me, though. The Empire's been good to me. Can't say I'm sorry it's all over. Shouldn't think there'd be anyplace for the likes of me in what's to come. Better to go out with some dignity."

He stopped, as though considering what to say next. Finlay waited, and only after a moment realized that Georg McCrackin was dead. Finlay closed the man's eyes and got to his feet. Evangeline stood up with him and put a comforting hand on his arm. He didn't notice. He was still looking down at the dead man.

"Julian doesn't need to know," he said finally. "Let him think he killed his brother's killer. It's simpler, that way."

"For the moment," said Evangeline. "But what happens if he ever finds out the truth? That you were his brother's killer, and he killed an innocent man?"

"No one's innocent anymore," said Finlay. "And what's one more secret, to the likes of us?"

He strode off into the depths of the command center, following the distant sounds of combat and the screams of the dying, not looking to see whether Evangeline was following him.

All across the planet of Golgotha, in towns and cities and starports, the rebels moved unstoppably forward, driving back the Imperial forces on all fronts. Their one trump card, the huge war machines, now stood dead and lifeless, empty metal shells with nothing to guide them. The Imperial troops looked defeat in the face, and reacted in the only way they knew how. They broke out the biggest weapons they had, and opened fire on everyone who wasn't them. They cut down rebels and civilians alike, and flooded the streets with blood. They took crowds of women and children hostage, used them as human shields, and threatened to execute them in batches of ten if the rebels didn't back off. They blew up important installations and power plants and hospitals rather than let the rebels take them. They destroyed whole towns and their populations in order to save them. Such widespread savagery and slaughter had been expected, and theoretically allowed for, but in practice the sheer coldbloodedness of it shocked the rebels to their souls, even after all they'd seen on Virimonde. All over the world the rebel advances slowed and stopped, confronted by an evil too great for their simple tactics. The rebels were willing to give their own lives for victory, but faced with the responsibility for mass slaughter of civilians, they hesitated, and were lost. The rebellion faltered, and suddenly everything seemed in the balance again.

And that was when the Mater Mundi manifested again, all across the planet. Our Mother of All Souls, the uber-esper, slammed into every esper's mind simultaneously, hundreds of thousands of espers suddenly transformed and transfigured into a whole new order of being. Linked into one great massmind, they acted as one, the psistorms flashed through towns and cities all over Golgotha, sweeping away the Imperial troops while not touching the rebels or civilians. Polters and pyros destroyed Imperial buildings and refuges, torched barracks and tore down barricades, unstoppable avatars of destruction. Telepathic storms swept through the troops, jumping from mind to mind, washing away sanity and memories and leaving nothing behind. In other places, esper-driven nightmares ran riot through helpless minds, and hardened soldiers tore out their own eyes rather than see what they were being shown. Other troops gunned down their fellows, then turned their guns on themselves.

And as quickly as that the tide turned again, and resistance to the rebel forces was swept away. Mater Mundi looked upon her work and saw it to be good, and withdrew herself from the thousands of esper minds. The rebel forces mopped up the mess she'd left behind and took control of the towns and cities, whose populations praised them as saviors. The war on the surface was over.

But the Mater Mundi wasn't finished yet. Manifesting through an old friend, Jenny Psycho, the Mater Mundi reached out and snagged two more useful souls, and teleported all three of them to where they could do the most good. They disappeared silently, air rushing in to fill the space where they'd been, and in the general chaos no one even noticed they'd gone. Satisfied that she'd done all that was necessary, the Mater Mundi shut herself down until she might be needed again.

In Lionstone's Court, Hell had taken root and bloomed like a dark and poisonous flower. There were flames everywhere, their golden and scarlet light sometimes all the illumination there was against the lowering dark. The air was thick with the stench of sulfur, spilled blood, and cooked human flesh. Captured rebels had been impaled on rough wooden stakes or hung on traceries of metal thorns that slowly pulled them apart. Corpses of dead advisors hung from chains. Ravens ate their eyes and tore at their faces, and spoke shrilly in human voices. It had become dangerous to fail the Empress in anything now. Bloodred angels with burning wings stood in ranks behind the Iron Throne, bearing monofilament swords. Dishonorable weapons, but Lionstone was past caring about such niceties.

Captain Silence, Investigator Frost, and Security Officer Stelmach made their way cautiously through the crimson-tinged mists of Hell, carefully skirting the yellow sulfur fogs that belched up out of the glowing ash pits. They stuck close together, tried not to look around too much, and headed for Lionstone's spotlit Throne by the most direct route. Small bones crunched under their boots from time to time. They looked like they came from birds or animals. Or possibly small children. Some of them still had tatters of flesh and skin attached. Sometimes the people hanging from chains or transfixed on steel-bladed trees cried out to them as they passed, begging for help or death or just a little water. Silence and Frost stared straight ahead, and did not answer. They knew there was nothing they could do. Nothing they'd be allowed to do. Stelmach was crying quietly, sniffing back tears.

They'd been called back to Golgotha, and then down to the Imperial Palace, on direct orders from the Empress herself, using top emergency codes only ever to be used when the Throne itself was endangered. So of course they came, ignoring the rebels and their battles, ignoring cries for help from beleagured Imperial forces, driven by the urgency of their summons. They didn't know yet that the war on the surface had been lost, but it wouldn't have surprised them. They'd seen the live broadcasts from Virimonde, and even the Investigator had been shocked. Silence had said only a madwoman could have given such orders, and neither Frost nor Stelmach had reproached him. They discussed the rebellion on their way back to Golgotha, but their loyalty was never in doubt, despite all that had happened. They were sworn to the Iron Throne, and their Empress, and you didn't betray your honor just because things were going badly. Sometimes, when things were going really badly, all you had left was your honor.

And so they walked through Hell, through the heat and the mists and the suffering of the damned. There were no guards to accompany them, this time. Silence wondered if this was meant as a mark of trust, or if Lionstone was just short of guards. It didn't matter. They were here now, called back from disgrace, their ship and crew's honor restored. Silence had been hoping to use this opportunity to talk a little cautious sense into Lionstone. But having seen the Court's current incarnation, he wasn't sure that was possible anymore. The Court was an extension of the Empress's mind, and it seemed both had gone to Hell.

Finally they came to the Iron Throne. Jets of flame shot high up into the air, like fountains of fire, eerily silent, casting a crimson satanic aspect over Lionstone and her Throne. The maids clustered together at her feet, alert and snarling, metal claws flexing from under their fingernails, staring hungrily with their artificial eyes at the newcomers before the Throne. The burning angels stood silently, swords at the ready. Lionstone should have looked utterly safe and secure, but she didn't. She sat forward, right on the edge of her seat, staring grimly at the viewscreen floating before her, studying reports from the few Imperial-controlled channels still on the air, watching helplessly as her Empire fell apart around her. Silence and Frost and Stelmach came to a halt before the Iron Throne, and bowed deeply to her, and she acknowledged them with a mere flap of her hand. When she finally deigned to turn and look at them, her eyes were wide and staring, and her smile was strangely fixed, as though she'd forgotten just how one did such a thing.

"So, you're finally here. My Captain, my Investigator, my Security Officer. Sworn to me, to death and beyond. Traitors!"

"No, Your Majesty," Silence said quickly. "We are loyal to you. We always have been."

"Then why did you keep secrets from me? Why did you try and hide what you've become? Why didn't you tell me about the powers you gained on the Wolfling World?"

Silence and Frost looked at each other, and then at Stelmach, who shook his head. He hadn't told. Silence looked back at Lionstone, and kept his voice even and calm. "For a long time we didn't understand what was happening to us. It seems our time in the Madness Maze, brief though it was, was enough to change us on levels we still don't fully comprehend. We have done our best to serve you faithfully while we struggled for some kind of control over our new… abilities."

"And what about you, Security Officer?" said Lionstone. "I gave you specific orders to watch these two and report on them!"

"I have tried to do my duty as I saw best," said Stelmach. His face was deathly pale, and his hands were shaking, but his gaze and his voice were unflinching. "It was not a simple matter. There were… ambiguities to the situation."

"Words," said Lionstone, leaning back on her Throne. Her cold eyes moved back and forth across the three of them. "Nothing but empty words. It's too late for such evasiveness now. I won't have it. The barbarians are pounding on the gates of Empire. I need weapons to hold them back while I plan how to undo my reverses. You're going to be those weapons. Tell me about your powers. Tell me everything. Or die here at my feet."